Cold is cold, is cold, is cold.
The sun does not shine in Feburary, but that does not mean life cannot be bright.
Your eyes are the blue the sky does not have and every time you hold my hand it is like a hug after a long day–a hug squeezing, squeezing, squeezing my palm, touching knuckles, nails, fingertips, finger pads, the skin creases in-between.
It is not what you say, it is how you say it, and no, no, no you may not all go to the bathroom at once, and no, no, no, I will not babysit you, even though I wear the same boots as your mom.
Fifteen minutes is enough. It is enough to get ready for class when you wake up fifteen minutes prior, enough for an apology, enough for a middle school girl’s basketball team to give up or to make a comeback. It is enough to run out of things to say and enough to say too much.
Fifteen minutes is enough for me to summarize things I learned in the twenty-eight days of February.
But twenty-eight days?
Twenty-eight days is not. It is not enough. It is short and curt and practically rude. And now, gone.