Poem in Late April
by Angela Patten
Just before The Great Disappointment
when the Elect could still believe
they had been singled out for salvation
Just before the trees began flinging themselves
into blossom, serving up dollops
of raspberry sherbet, and peppermint stick
with clotted cream
and you walked around gawking upwards
at each delectable concoction,
tasting possibility on the breeze.
Just before you could remember
being still too young to imagine
what it felt like to be old.
You were riding the upswing of the seesaw,
thrust up so high and wild
you forgot about lever and fulcrum,
the ripening and the falling–off.
Just before the month your mother said
was all for you. A gift so lovely
it would take you all your life
to take it in.