April Come She Will
the dimming of the world dissipates. brightness flourishes longer. sounds are sweeter.
at 16 i’m at a park in flip flops, embracing the gentle breeze on my face, and the dry pavement nestled underneath my toes. i sit on a swing, clutching its chains, ready to go higher and higher and higher. i tug at my jean jacket on the walk back, pulling the denim close to my chest.
at 18 i’m upstate, lonely at a school, depressed by the scent of freshly-cut grass, by the picnic blankets on the quad, by the bustle on main street, because i have no one to share it with. the sun still shines as i sit alone in the dining hall, picking at the dinner on my plate.
at 21 i’m on a local campus, back flat on the ground, head resting against my books, squinting up at the light, at the shape-shifting clouds until my next class begins. a buzz is in the air. the tulip festival will commence in a week or two. everything is saturated in color.
at 23 i’m at the creek by my house, staring at the slow-moving ducks that surpass the pebbles in the stream, that navigate their way through the ripples. the ripples are always moving in fluid motion.
at 25, i’m in a white dress with black polka dots, lying by the brooklyn bridge by the east river, among the college students, among the hipsters, among the young families. i remove my black leggings since it’s the hottest day in april thus far. people willfully wait for a homemade ice cream cone from the factory on the pier, because they think it’s worth it. i think to myself that maybe it is.
bleakness gives way to vitality. we are starving for it. starving for new life.