Thursday, March 29, 2018

The Cruelest Month Approaches (NAPOWRIMO 2018)

I've kept my years of Poetry Month writing together in a folder called "The Cruelest Month," which is how T.S. Eliot describes April in his poem, The Wasteland. What he meant by that has been the subject of many English class writing assignments. To me, perhaps, because I live in New Jersey, it is April who is charged with wrenching herself out of winter's grip, a reminder of Persephone coming up from Hades. April must repave the way of growth to may the work of her sisters May and June easier. As a daughter of April, I understand her responsibilty, not only to reinvent herself every year, but to sometimes drag along an unwilling Earth. So, in that respect, she may be cruel — moving forward can sometimes be a painful process.

As I prepare for another April of poetry writing, I have submitted this site to for sharing, and have written an early poem. For April, on her journey.

Older Sister

April arrives, hair damp and disheveled,
shoes muddied and worn,
buttons missing from her coat.
She drags overstuffed parcels across my yard
unaware they have ripped open
leaving a trail behind her.
Something soft and easily windblown,
swirling up in March's fading eddys,
catching sunlight as they drift.
April walks on, her parcels grow lighter,
coat discarded and shoes kicked off,
around her a settling mist
through which the sepia world gains color
preparing for her younger sisters,
the bearers of flowers and fruit.

©2018 Noreen Braman

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