Mercedes Lawry

April’s Muddled Thoughts

I would become a river, swimming
over smooth stones. I would become
the tender green emerging
from the April chill.

I’m tired, a litany of leaden burdens.
I would become a bird, 
as many would, the escape of flight,
that sweet delirium.

I think the timing is right
or the season or just the way light
pierces the tumultuous clouds.

Ghosts are visiting, inviting me
into their shadowy corridors
which appear, oddly, comfortable.

When the rain stops,
I’ll plant snow peas.
And then we’ll see. 

Back to Issue XI…