Listen to this poem using the player above.
April
already the sinking of autumn
a rough sack of wet leaves
thrown over the shoulder
sternum aching from bending forward
the slightest cloud across the sun
renews longing
air smells of metal, predicts the coming rain
sidewalkers with downcast eyes
avoid the discomfort of contact
a woman on a concrete bridge
measures the distance to Ophelia’s bed
thinks better of it this day
there’s rosemary for you, that’s for remembrance
there’s fennel for you, and columbines
Ophelia waits, open-eyed
unready, she’s thinking, that’s all
the time will come, my sweet
when I shall cover you up with my watery sheet
I’ll be marinating in this for a while yet.
Sounds damp.