I am glad it’s April again, as it makes me write more poems. I like this. I like feeling pressured to do something. Without the need for it to be perfect. So, here I go writing whatever comes to mind. I’ll try to do this each MORNING of April, but I have a feeling some might get pushed off to bedtime.
Francine believes herself a sea where daisies grow beneath. St Gabriel walks beside me, though I can’t see him. I’m often afraid, she writes. I taste myself in water. Francine dreamed a humming bird tried to wake her. If my spirit is a man, this is right, she writes. I will not be afraid of what’s hidden. Francine believes herself a sea of daisies. This is Mercy, she writes, to feel unknown drowning, knowing. Francine sees dark seas beneath her. Francine begins to believe her power.