April Poem #14

Soaked Mourning

That this spring has been
Hard is not a fucking joke

Misted rain, missed trains
Matched caps to rain jackets

City spun w/ un-ripened
Buds shunted to trees, timid

Months of waiting, days dying
When I read you—news you un-

Ravel the gore & insides of me
Us, bussed to home & families, jobs

& each hustled day  Pick up any
Paper or feed  See the mouths

Of the mothers & their empty arms
See the hollows of their children

The way they/we wait for some reck-
Oning  Some way to navigate how

Bullets bury in skin, the way hate
Is a plume, feathers & flaunt all

Choked & ravaging, blistered, burn-
Ishing & blooming a hot wreckage.