Another Poem in Progress

In Active Labour with One of Three Poems 

 I felt a poem wanting to come through today as I was listening to the wise speaking about letting go.  Something Thich Nhat Hanh said, in particular, led to some labor pains.  I also have a poem that wanted to come out a week ago that is still waiting to be delivered.  And as I was taking the dogs for a walk today I felt  another one rumbling inside me ... something to do with how suddenly it was May.  Three poems waiting to come out. I figured it was time to get at least one of those babies on paper. So I sat down when I got home and scribbled on a piece of paper several things that popped up until this came out of the birthing room. Don't judge my baby, k?

Work in Progress

Where is April? 

May just seemed to appear, 

out of nowhere. 

She is  suddenly here beside me 

smiling in the  bright and sunny

way she does. 

Wrapped in colorful ribbons  

with their long tails floating behind her,

she playfully skips every second step.

Her unexpected appearance 

surprises me and 

my winter-weary body

finds it hard to keep up. 

My dogs, excited by the scent of her,

strain at their leashes to embrace 

all that she is.

.  

She is certainly embraceable.

Still,

I was not expecting May's company so soon.

It leaves me a little unsettled

Only yesterday, it seemed,

 I walked with 

an exhausted April down this very same trail. 

I slowed my step

when she  gasped for  breath 

between the late lashings 

of  snow and sleet and ice she was receiving.

 I turned my eyes away ,

blushing in embarrassment 

when  the  frustrated maternal sky, 

dark and heavy with disappointment

stood over her forth child , hands on hips

disciplining much too loudly. 

I listened, though I didn't want to, 

while Sky coached  her daughter , not so gently,

to give back that which she had stolen

from the invisible world around us.

And April,

insisting, to no avail, 

that she was innocent and wrongfully accused, 

not knowing what else to do, I suppose,

just hung her heavy head and cried. 

She cried and cried and cried. 

Only yesterday, it seemed,

I was in the company of a weeping April.

Assuming she would appreciate 

my silent nonjudgmental company,

I was quiet as we walked together,

my eyes down cast 

focusing on her heavy step

and  her fists curled up into tight little balls

as  tears brought on by her mother's grey wrath

made deep puddles around our feet.. 

Only yesterday, it seemed,

I walked with April

but today  she and the dirty  patches of snow

she clung to for penance

and the puddles of tears

I've become so used to,

are no where to be seen . 

She has disappeared

without so much as a goodbye.

Yesterday, I walked with April

and today, I walk with May. 

 I look into the  youthful  face

of my new companion, 

so different than her sister's, 

flushed with sunshine, 

eyes shining with nature's approval

as beams of golden accolades 

from a blue and spacious mother

drop upon her,

touching all with that

which April never knew.

Though I find myself 

smiling at May's company,

laughing at her silly antics,

warmed by her happy and joyful disposition  

I miss the sensitive company

of her older sister.

Maybe because 

 I can empathize with April  more. 

Besides, I have been made privy to April's  secret, 

to the truth she withheld from her mother. 

I caught  a glimpse 

when her grip loosened

of that which was  hidden in

her once tight little fists ...

 Green and hopeful,

magical and precious...

I seen the gems shining through

the cracks in  her tired fingers. 

Her mother was right...

She had stolen from the ethereal  space around us.

She  had taken wisps of Life from the air...

when no one was looking 

and squeezed her fists around it, 

hiding it, protecting it, 

saving it for her little sister's glory.

And now, unseen and ethereal too,

she  gives it back to all. 

I see her opened palms 

on the tips of hardwood branches,

the helmets  of crocuses, daffodils  and tulips 

pushing their way through the  frozen earth, 

and in the tufts of grass where the puddles were. 

I see her little hands  opening everywhere,

releasing the magic of her stolen gift 

into a yawning world

and

I know she has not left us.  

 May is here now, 

laughing and skipping beside me,

receiving her mother's golden approval,

only  because of her big sister's  selfless  sacrifice.

April  has not left us.  

She is everywhere. 

© Dale-Lyn, May, 2022

 Man, it always blows me away how "soulful" poetry is, how it opens up to the depth of who we are.  After I wrote this poem, as imperfect as it may be, I became aware of a deeper meaning to it.  I seen my late sister as April and the rest of us younger sister (4) as growing and glowing because of her.  Wow!  I had no idea I was thinking of her but there she ws.  Like April, she is still everywhere. 

All is well.