The 21st Century Is When Everything Changes

April sat quietly on the swing-set. Danced on the dewy grass and felt the earth shift for every restless sighs and splintered hours. April was the storm you never asked for. And suddenly you have too much rain on your palms and your plants are still dying. April was a heavy dream. Memories twisting people into iridescent bodies we welcome into our homes. Feelings giving birth to an entire city of lovers and ghosts. April was sitting in group therapy. Wounds held open like charms on a bracelet, lightly strung together by a sliver of hope. April was healing in ways that the body didn’t fully understand. Blushing pink under the morning sun, trembling softly against old songs, coughing up past selves made by other people’s carpenter hands. April was a roll of ticket stubs to bus stops you never planned for. April somersaulted across the lawn and landed on tomorrow’s porch.