Poem | Good Friday Migraine

Danielle Chapman discusses this poem with our critic, Anthony Domestico, on the extended segment of The Commonweal Podcast.


A bird, undeterred, tries to squeak
juice from April ice
as crocuses wince
behind black snow

though through the window
I wade into yellow
warmth as if into the aural form
vision has been tunneling toward—

tigered lemon flutes
trembling acetylene
and, past the nauseated pain,
Easter, blistering.

Published in the March 23, 2018 issue: 

Danielle Chapman is the author of Delinquent Palaces, a collection of poems published in 2015 by Northwestern University Press. Recent poems appear in the New Yorker, the Atlantic, and Poetry. Chapman teaches creative writing at Yale University.

Also by this author
Poem | After Ashbery

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