Apology

Speaking of February, here’s a poem trying to make amends for my dislike of the briefest month. This apology appeared in Prairie Wolf Press Review*, and I may include it in my next collection (whenever that may be).

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Apology

For years I have held February
answerable to many sorrows
as though the month itself
were responsible for its appearance:
the dour days too short, long nights
steeped in frosty bitterness.
Resigned to hibernation,
February made me sleepy.
Dulled my skin, sucked dream
into a cold vacuum
like a vacant acre of outer space,
a stone of ice upon my chest.

But today, I watch a small herd
of yearling deer file gingerly along
the hedgerow over crusted snow
and sense thaw within.
The days, brief, are nonetheless
beginning their shadowy
stretch into spring. It is the month
owls urge themselves
toward mating, their querying calls
strung along night’s bare branches;
the month buzzards return
from foraging the more southerly dead.

Skunks break dormancy amid
tussocks of snowdrops;
sometimes, the hellebore blooms.
I have been observing February
from all the wrong angles.
No, this is not the wild greening of April
nor the fragrant abundance of June,
but it is something that deserves better
than repudiation or scorn.
To February, which has given me much
besides unhappiness, I offer my apology.

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*Prairie Wolf Press seems to have folded, alas.

 

Gratitude

Friday morning, I had the opportunity to spend an hour with high school students at our college-sponsored poetry festival for teens. I also got the chance to hear visiting poet Patrick Rosal read poems, talk about poetry, and answer student questions. The young people found Rosal engaging and inspirational.

My “workshop” group talked about apologies: what the word’s etymology is, what its connotations are, whether they’d ever felt sorry and what about, blame and forgiveness, excuses and reasons. I gave them four poetry examples. They really liked what they perceived as the the “sorry/not sorry” stance in William Carlos Williams’ poem “This Is Just to Say.” That a short, century-old poem resonates with 15-year-olds pleases me immensely; and I’m glad I could introduce them to it.

I decided to write a gratitude response poem to Dr. Williams, following his style.

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Thus, I also extend my apologies to the poet.

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This Is Just to Say

Three plum pits
on a white
dish
testify to
that cold
juicy sweetness

Those seeds
met soil
and grew

Those plum trees
flower
even now

 

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