The end of April is always a little sad, for me. I love that National Poetry Month is this awesome once-a-year thing that I do, and it wouldn't be nearly as awesome if it was just all poetry all the time around here; plus, that would get boring, and eventually I would run out of things I wanted to post (I say this every year; it's always true). Even so, April always seems so short, and I am always a little melancholy when the end of the month rolls around -- not least because May is invariably batshit crazy, and April 30th always, one way or another from year to year, feels like the last breath of calm before the storm. But I'll get through the storm, and I have a lot of things to look forward to. May, as usual, will be about equal parts intense and exhausting and wonderful. And summer's just around the corner.
Poetry month definitely doesn't exist in a vacuum, so thank you to everyone else who posted poetry, and everyone who requested poetry or commented on poetry or read poetry; thanks for reading with me, friends. ♥
March 10th and the snow flees like eloping brides
into rain. The imperceptible change begins
out of an old rage and glistens, chaste, with its new
craving, spring. May your desire always overcome
your need; your story that you have to tell,
enchanting, mutable, may it fill the world
you believe: a sunny view, flowers lunging
from the sill, the quilt, the chair, all things
fill with you and empty and fill. And hurry, because
now as I tire of my studied abandon, counting
the days, I'm sad. Yet I trust your absence, in everything
wholly evident: the rain in the white basin, and I
vigilant.
—Jane Miller (b. 1949), "May You Always be the Darling of Fortune" from Many Junipers, Heartbeats (Copper Beach Press, 1980).
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