No, it’s true, April does not

Arrive as a grim reaper

Coming to take souls

Off to underground rivers

In the waste land

Or anything like that.

On first glance, April

Is a reprieve, new life

Is in abundance, and

We step out and look up

For the first time in awhile.

 

Now we can rouse ourselves.

Lift ourselves from bed

And go out into the world.

Daffodils, tulips, and blue tits

All await us on the hill.

 

And we’re guilty.

We feel guilty that

We are not moved.

The long-awaited sun

Is the weight of a millstone

We’ve dropped on our chests.

We faltered somewhere.

With dead eyes and dead ears

We turn away

 

Now we can do

All the things we feel

We should have wanted.

 

Breathe deeply.

Close your eyes.

Depression is a warm blanket.

You have no debt

To the happiness brokers.

You are free.