April 21
2018: Happy National Poetry Month!
She was an evil stepmother.
In her old age she is slowly dying
in an empty hovel.
She shudders
like a clutch of burnt paper.
She does not remember that she was evil.
But she knows
that she feels cold.
— She Does Not Remember by Anna Swir
2017: Happy National Poetry Month!
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Picture lilacs.
Picture armfuls of lilacs, wet
with rain. Nuzzle your whole face
into the bouquet. Feel the cold drops
on your lips. Inhale.
Picture the ocean
from a cliff.
Stand at the edge, see
how the foam tumbles in
and disperses,
watch this heavy water
undulate until you’re dizzy.
Lie down.
With one fingertip
touch the flat petal
of a California poppy. Lightly
travel the entire surface.
Close your eyes.
Imagine the sun on your eyelids.
Recall the smell of wild mint
and the taste of wild blueberries
and the grace of coming upon a doe
at dusk by a river
and she does not bolt.
She lifts her gaze to you
before she goes on drinking.
Imagine damp seeds sending out blind roots
into the generous soil.
Picture the root hairs absorbing the mineral-rich drink.
Feel the turgid green push up
with a force that splits rock.
Hear the laughter.
Barbara, open your eyes.
Look at these women. You can visualize
any two
together.
— For Barbara, Who Said She Couldn’t Visualize Two Women Together by Ellen Bass
