xvi. MONTH BY MONTH.
the calendar reads april fifteenth
but the air around me is still so frigid
and icicles dangle themselves from tin roofs.
people walk around in snow boots
and heavy jackets, frowns on their faces.
i wonder if the sun likes to play peek a boo,
for we only see her once a week.
i was hoping by now
that the sadness winter lingers
would have melted away by now,
but my heart is still frozen over
and my eyes are still dull.
maybe, this is all that april will
bring. dead flowers on broken stems
and cloudy, grey days. maybe, i'm asking
too much from her.
maybe, it's more than just seasonal
depression, an emptiness that has buried
itself a home too deep to burn down.
i guess for now,
i must await may and hope
for a better day.
YOU ARE READING
what tomorrow brings.
Poetryxvii, april. (iii). you have no voice if no one is listening. © playlist poetry h.r. : #3
