IN APRIL
Nothing as simple as all that - you start out young and
continue along. The fevers pass, perhaps some childhood
illness will hold you a moment, keep you from school -
that bare, intended body staying home again, in isolation.
When you finally do run outside, the trees are lightened green
once more - a first growth of late April. Unregimented,
suddenly everything is wild again. As are you.
-
Adults are mired, it seems, in their talk : watching them
perambulate, their suits and ties and those fabric'd headdress
things the ladies wear, they are all still seen in ancient
photos of those days : that's you, the bare and twisted
one in the middle, at nine years old - and again,
wondering, what it is you've been told. The moon
is a yellowed, changing squash where no one goes?
-
Up ahead, large, headstrong people are gathered to
talk about someone who has died, a brother who was
born dead, or a little fellow, too sick to go on. Failed
people meet to talk about failure, and the room is so
closed, as, once more, no one will let you out.
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