National Poetry Month Day 4


I remember the night
Obama won
and how I envied the
folks dancing in the
city streets
celebrating hope
while I was home
with a belly full of baby
and a smile on my face
texting back-and-forth
with an old friend
(the kind of old who knows
where the bodies are buried
and holds the keys
to my darkest fears)
late into the night
our excitement reflected
in the incessant glow of
our phones well past
all of the witching hours
Anything and everything
felt possible
on the curve
of that family’s smile
Here and there
she and I recall
those shared hours
locked in thrall
eager for a new day
and wonder to ourselves:
whatever happened
to us
the whole lot of us
and all of that hope?

April is National Poetry Month – one of my favorite times of year, where I attempt to write a poem every day. I’m having trouble writing these days, and I spent a week in Paris, so I’m already behind, but determined to catch up and write my thirty. They won’t be perfect, they never are, but they’ll be here, throughout the month of April.


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