distressed haiku


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.