I went to meet two dogs at the shelter this afternoon, brothers who the shelter wants to adopt together. They were adorable and loving and open as dogs are, and we will go back to see about bringing them home early next week. Dogs always make me happy, which is something I needed this week. The news has been full of cold and floodwaters and explosions and sadness, and April does not seem at all like spring this year. It seems gray and unwelcoming and depressing all around.
So I started to think about the draft I wrote earlier in April, which took lines from other poets about this traditionally spring month. And I felt I needed to take a different take on this particular month.
So, for Day 19 (but only the 12th poem):
What blows. What freezes. What weather
grips our tender flesh and squeezes hard.
What floats. What floods. What waters rise
and lift the heavy boxes that hold our days.
What crashes. What thunders. What clouds
billow and slip tears beneath our eyelids.
What hides. What is discovered. What fear
behind the doors, beneath the bloody boat.