Thursday, April 12, 2012

The Thing About April

You may have noticed I have a thing for Edna St. Vincent Millay.  I just like her, okay?

And today is Old South Days in Athens, Georgia, which means the lawn of the sorority next to my office is covered in girls wearing hoop skirts and flip flops.  And it reminds me of how wonderful and silly April is in Georgia.  I mean, everybody goes apeshit: people, plants, birds, my cats, our neighbors who love 1980's R&B with nasty and yet very sincere lyrics.... The kids on the playground next door to my house cry and laugh and whine a little more lustily in April. The guy who lives in the tattoo parlor that backs up to our backyard smokes pot a little less secretively and spends more time embellishing his spray painted mural of a skull leering at a naked lady. 

Anyway, it's a damn free-for-all.  And I love it.

So let's see what Edna says about April, shall we?

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

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