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 a book of poems, Delinquent Palaces. She teaches creative writing at Yale.

Also by this author
Poem | After Ashbery

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