In a week or ten days
    the snow and ice
    will melt from Cemetery Road.

    I’m coming! Don’t move!


    Once again it is April.
    Today is the day
    we would have been married
    twenty-six years.

    I finished with April
    halfway through March.


    You think that their
    dying is the worst
    thing that could happen.

    Then they stay dead.


    Will Hall ever write
    lines that do anything
    but whine and complain?

    In April the blue
    mountain revises
    from white to green.


    The Boston Red Sox win
    a hundred straight games.
    The mouse rips
    the throat of the lion

    and the dead return.


    Donald Hall (interview here), in his 2003 book The Painted Bed. His wife, the poet Jane Kenyon died in 1995.

    April is National Poetry Month, so take a moment to appreciate the poetic among us sometime in the next four weeks.

  2. Fresh Air


    Donald Hall

    Distressed Haiku