Welcome to The Rumpus’s National Poetry Month project. We’ll be running a new poem from a different poet each day for the month of April.
Semi-Aubade
When I wake in the morning,
my mind is black.
Having arrived
under grander skies, I find
I’m not happier, but more in awe
of suffering. And this
is shift enough. As usual,
meaning trumps happiness.
For “meaning,” read:
“a sense of meaning;
meaningness.” I refer back
because I have to,
because the past is implicit in—
in anything. Listen:
I’m attempting to feel
two contradictory feelings.
A long breeze; the status quo.
An early snow
breaks all the trees,
which are still bright green.
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