April's Promises

are for mortals.

The timid bud

via

 

arrests a restless mind

via

and 

feathered hopes wing away

taking us with them. 

copyright cristie henry via pinterest

For

Flesh and blood


do the miracles of April


unfold.

via

via

via

From 

paper and pen

does the heart's beat

rise.  

  
And it's all for

the people I care about

to whom I wish

April's Promises.

via

This post is dedicated to 

everyone

overcoming cancer.
(I am fine, my dear friends. This is just a poem dedicated to others)

To R. F.

Tasting

a sudden landing

of oregano on the tongue

brings a dead uncle back

to a family picnic.  Bulbous boysenberries

between the teeth squirt a sweet punch

of childhood Sundays, and playful

plosives release an airflow of thought

on the tongue blade.  The mouth

Is a feast.

But the words

I have breast cancer

are hard to swallow.  Fricatives

strike like primal impulses

on a battlefield

of teeth on flesh. Vowels

piston five syllables, mashing

a bland unbelief that you spit out

when you say them. Fear

puddles in the soft-mouthed life

of morning when you wake

and I say them

with you,

Tasting.

anita rivera©

winter 2014