My tradition is to write an eve of April poem so here it goes. Maureen over at NaPoWriMo headquarters suggested a play on Emily Dickinson so that was a nice launching prompt. So without further ado:
hope it’s a forever thing
that sprouts from sidewalk cracks
tougher than old macadam
it’s bird song that turns my head
so I notice the load of luck
left on my luckless shoulder.
at times hope springs from nothing
others she rides with death
a silent companion in grief
who turns our attention to
small gladnesses of spring
and deep quietude of night
hope takes our hand and whispers
see tomorrow? be strong enough.
Hope is hard to come by for me, but the trees slowly leafing out does make me hopeful. Too soon they’ll be full green and blocking the sun.
How was the 2nd vaccine?
Sore arm and a few hours of headache but tonight I’m fine.