February Thaw

As the brown trees of late winter silently relent,
hinting at loosening their tightly wrapped buds,

As iced-over ponds slightly crack here and there,
forming light films of newly freed water,

As the sun stays with us minutes longer each day,
bringing pale warmth to streets and houses,

The grayness yet persists, the winter wind still bites and fights,
finding its way through leaky walls and open collars,
  all the while hissing, whispering,
      Don’t rush me…
      Don’t rush me…

Susan Gundlach has published articles on topics ranging from family history and puppetry, to the Great Wall of China and the Nile River. Her poems have appeared in such journals as Dark Matter, The Middle Gray, Lingerpost, *82 Review, After Hours, Referential Magazine, and in the walkway of the Evanston Public Library—etched in stone, or cement, actually. Her work can also be seen in Cricket magazine, which features some of her children’s poems. Currently, she is working on collaborations with artist and musician colleagues. She lives in Evanston, Illinois, with her family, human and canine.

You can see more of her work in *82 Review in issue 1.4 here and 2.4 here.