FOR APRIL

by Suzanne Hornwood



Warm stretches, white sand
freckled, smooth and folding
the pool's deep hydrating blue. Blue
and an unbelievable lavender,
the surface gloss.
Birch trees with their clean white arms
that reach North and West
and East sometimes around me
simply photosynthesis. No shame.
The breeze weaves between the leaves
the whir-hum of a melody...
Presley pouring through the valley 's thick air
latent with dance and the eyes that close to it.

And a giggle, her arm stretches across to
pass a book, her first published book,
the first of many. Her metallic blue
stars, reflecting the black
and white, see more in the
words than words than black
and white. Beer bottles, secrets she keeps,
that she will keep, that are hers,
Elvis before the war,
and I wonder is this renewal?
The rain changes her
and is her only savior.


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