We're at the beginning of April, 2016.  Its "almost" time; almost starting to get warm, almost time to nominate new people for president, but winter may not be over. There's a cold spell forecast for tonight in the New York area, and the electoral process may wind up with a freeze on new and better ideas about our inequalities, our diversity, our climate. 

So, I wrote a piece called April.  


Central park in almost bloom

trees winter naked start to dress for summer.

Clouds of red and dark green husks

pop from skinny branch tips stretched and filigreed.

No trace of them last week.

Winter mocked us.

Now red and dark green clouds show off their defiance.

Yes, there will be spring

maybe tomorrow when the trees explode

yellow wisps of leaves unfold

breathe like pupae in the new warmth

and we come out to watch, stretch and yearn

to drop our winter layers

like the red and dark green husks.


But we are wary, not defiant

to expose our skins and hopes

into the springtime air

and to each other.

We should go out, burst out

smell the other people

curious like puppies

beneath the sky.

But now the sky’s depleted

a tattered garment worn so thin

a sieve for radiation

from a vast, indifferent cosmos.


We need to cover up, put on sunblock

if we go outside, breathe in deep

the new warm moistness.

We do go out

sniff around our rediscovered peers

maybe even touch a few

but now behind the touches

we are wary ever more

caught up and exposed

a naked, crowded world

moves so fast

we miss the past

when March and April only meant

there would be May and June and summer.