Poetry Month

April, I'd forgotten, is poetry month.  A friend had posted a swath of poems, one for each day, and I started rolling through them and the images started to attack me the way branches you hold aside snap back and slap you.  I'm tear-eyed and thoughtful this evening, emptying long dusty pockets of memory and longing with lines of Frost, Chuck Miller, Bukowski, Lisel Mueller, and Vassar Miller coursing through my veins like alcohol.

I need to read more poetry.  Oddly, I had a plan earlier this month that involved going to the big downtown library and checking out Anne Sexton, Theresa Rebeck (she writes plays not poems), Bukowski and Bernadette Mayer.  I stalled that plan when I realized I hadn't done my taxes yet.

But they are done and I need poems instead of spreadsheets.  It is spring, I feel bereft and lacking and maybe I can fill that empty space up with poems, other people's really evocative, living, breathing poems, not my own wretched fumblings towards a grace I cannot grasp.

Here's one that really, truly got to me tonight, had me weeping in seconds.  Oh, how how I yearn for that golden envelope of light.

http://www.tylercoreshootspeople.com/poetry/april10-miller.html