Becoming April Third
I keep thinking I must be patient this spring,
patient with the changing days that smell like bonfire,
a wild Halloween wind. April is all contradiction,
moss and sap and hormones,
dogwood blossoms, the clamor of wasps.
I can learn from this month. April takes its time
letting us know how it’s going to be.
April bursts at the seams, puts on some gaudy colors:
ruby giants, flame azalea. A drama queen
whirling into sudden storms. Continue reading “2 Poems by Milo Gallagher”