April came and went soundly this year,
Differing acutely from Aprils before when
It entered drenched in seething recollections,
Taunting and flaunting my skewed misdirection.

It would invade my skull and occupy my breast
As if a ton of feathers held weight in my chest.
I wouldn’t cut it out, it deserved to be there as
A constant reminder of the scars that I bare.

No image of you or the sound of your voice
Would placate my tremors since you had no choice.
I can no longer hear the spark in your laughter,
Just silence and feeling the lacking long after.

April kicked and screamed and bit and scratched,
Digging its nails in my skin and its teeth in my back.
But April came and went soundly this year
And I find no solace in that.

Mae Wood