April is the cruelest month….
April is the killer month,
the month of late frost smothering
apple and cherry blossoms,
the month of too much blooming
too soon in too many colors.
How many shades of pink
exist, how many constellations
of purple in the grass, how many
galaxies of pear petals twinkling
in the field after last night’s storm?
The jonquils in their symphony
of yellow, each one claiming
to be First Trumpet, the tulips
holding high their bowls for rain.
The smiley-faced dandelions
are back, ready to take over
the world. There’s too much
happiness out there. The birds
can’t keep their mouths shut,
tweeting us before the sun
is even up. Lilacs show some
restraint, as do the azaleas,
not flaunting their hallmark
flowers until later. Bees lunge
dizzy with pollen, bumping
into walls, dropping from gutters
like bungee jumpers. For some
of us, spring’s not all that nifty.
Not all things return to life.
Graves will not open to give back
captives. Persephone does not
come home. All this floral hoopla,
too funereal. We’re relieved
when it’s time to flip the switch
to nightfall where just shapes
and silhouettes border the path.
Stars remain their constant selves,
a comfort they’re so far away.
~ Anita Skeen
Join us this week as we celebrate ten years of the RCAH Center for Poetry with founder/Director Anita Skeen, and original assistants Stephanie Glazier and Lia Greenwell. Visit our Facebook event for details.