April is not a nice girl

April 2015

Happens Every Spring

And he wraps
his fingers
around the pen
holding it in
his hand
like it was his
favorite bat
and takes
a 1-2-3
series of practice
swings
crouching into stance
while setting his
place between the
white caulk lines
of the pages
batters box
looking out a the pitcher
and nods in acknowledgement
with a slow sure steady stare
glaring a certain degree
of due respect
but….

Thinking
Hell yes….

I can hit this guy.

                                               Sometimes Grief – 4/2010

*

In an April Moment

*

Strange perfume
Chilly Sunday
April afternoon
Ambient concussions
in oscillating cycles
My shadow lingers
in the doorway sighing
in the silent hiss of
blooming scattered
upon fitful sparse green.
New red maple buds
burst on my daughters
disfigured branches
Cardinals in pairs appear
nestled in the thick
wild golden eyes
of Forsythia.
They seclude themselves
hide deep red wings like
secret lovers
and in this late afternoon
translucent fragile light
I think the wrinkles around your eyes
and slight pout of your lips
are singing hymns of the
Terrible Now to me.

Christmas ornament Cardinals
seclude their love inside
Forsythia’s arms
while this intoxication
of the second is complete
every time when I keep my silence
you return to me.

 Sometime Grief  – 5/2010

*

Why is April the Cruelest Month ?

*
Hard to put a handle
on this label.
So I asked my students
who originally wrote
this line.
They “peered” up at me
with such a deep bewilderment.

All except for that one girl who sits off on the left hand side of the room
who rolled her eyes and let out a sigh while huffing indignantly ,
“I don’t even see what that’s even supposed to mean.”

I guess now wasn’t the time to introduce the line,

“I see myself dead in the rain”

Maybe it was the bookend of chilled dawn memory
sandwiched between the evening dusk desire frost.

Once driving to work in April ice storms
to be a teacher in a County Jail
tended to make you a “little thirsty”
by the end of the day.

ok-
How about
“a lot….. of a “little thirsty”

Still….

Perhaps it is the distance taking hold
like one real “stick it to um” bastard of a Winter.
The distance of the years gone realized
in a growing, gnawing squeezing in your chest.

But really it’s that stranger’s hand in your pocket
You know that one you discover
upon putting your own in there
to fish something out.

And it looks like somebody already beat you too it
In some other April
where their needy memory
picked that pocket clean
of all you ever desired.

-Greetings from Gridville 2004

*

*

The Missing Thread
*
Trying so very hard
not to miss this
fragile thread.
The tail end of the shadows
contains it like it was pulling ink
in a thread line pinpoint
needles eye of the lines on this page.

*

April ignoring Spring
Back turned smirking
lusting in the gusting
of a premature barbecue twilight
gale burning hotter
wanting Summer now
Instead.
No time foreplay.
April pleading hot and fast
Jump me now
Instead of holding the fool May’s hand

So in the hissing high unnatural
desire there is just enough
light and heat to make you
believe out of season
you’ve got a shot at all this.

*

When April wants to really taunt March
she uses his winds like this on you.

The roar of Winter in the throat of a August Dog
right after the Fools day with your name written
all over it.

April laughing in all their faces.
Calling then just a bunch of numbers with Roman names
don’t let the calendar door hit you as it clears
your ass clear away.

*

April
Not a nice girl
after all.
Knows you and your missing thread
and shows up on an afternoon like this
to taunt and tease you…..in knots.

-Sometimes Grief- barks up the wrong tree 2012