National Poetry Month, a celebration of poetry which takes place each April, was introduced in 1996 and is organized by the Academy of American Poets as a way to increase awareness and appreciation of poetry in the United States. -Wiki
In that spirit I will post a poem here each day in April. I mean, c’mon, we can only consume so many pandemic media reports.
And here’s Day 1:
I hold a heap of insults in my arms
they are so heavy and piled
so high, I can barely see
over the top.
I don’t know how much
more
I can carry
or how much
longer
I can hold them;
the effort is all-consuming.
But I am careful to never
drop a single one,
and now I add another to the pile
I stagger under their weight.
As I go about my days
I grow bent and bitter
under my burdens.
After all these years,
and all this time,
it has never occurred to me
that I could simply put them down.
You describe one of my least favorite feelings all too accurately Mary. The weight, the concern never to drop even one…it can bend anything. Sharp and heavy like a bitter frost.
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Thanks Hedge… just the mood of the day.
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