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.
Please email comments to [email protected] [4] and join the conversation on our Facebook page [5].