that april

Today is April 1, and I am woefully underprepared for National Poetry Month. I've been sick for a week and was supposed to be in Houston with Lucy this weekend, so I feel a little bit like time has gotten away from me. But it's still April, and that means poetry. As always, there will be one poem per day (ish) between now and April 30.

To kick us off, here in 2023: Emily.

Dear March - Come in -
How glad I am -
I hoped for you before -
Put down your Hat -
You must have walked -
How out of Breath you are -
Dear March, how are you, and the Rest -
Did you leave Nature well -
Oh March, Come right upstairs with me -
I have so much to tell -

I got your Letter, and the Birds -
The Maples never knew that you were coming -
I declare - how Red their Faces grew -
But March, forgive me -
And all those Hills you left for me to Hue -
There was no Purple suitable -
You took it all with you -

Who knocks? That April -
Lock the Door -
I will not be pursued -
He stayed away a Year to call
When I am occupied -
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come

That blame is just as dear as Praise
And Praise as mere as Blame -

—Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), "Dear March - Come in -" (1310). I always feel like I'm posting unfinished poems with Dickinson, which is pretty fair from an editorial standpoint. I take my Dickinson from The Poems of Emily Dickinson: Reading Edition, ed. by R. W. Franklin, which is a reading edition and thus has no notes, but the editorial history of Dickinson is absolutely fucking fascinating, and there's a brief summary here.