February

I find it interesting how this poem begins with winter, and ends with spring. This shows how February is more of a transistor month: freezing to begin with, and quite warm to end. Just like nature, it seems, the speaker can not make up their mind on what to do. The whole while the syntax of this poem is short, very unformal dition, along with a little satire and humor thrown in the mix. And yet the reader gets the sense that the speaker is just about to stumble upon some great discover, some incredible epiphany, but she never does. "If we wise
hominids were sensible, we’d do that too..." (Atwood.) The speaker is tryinf to get over her feelings of disgust for love, as this is the month of Valentine's Day, but she also is trying to admit her own desires for the fateful emotion. Indescision rules this poem, just as it does our own struggle between mind and heart.