April
April sounds
like something
being peeled -
a fruit, a word, a coat -
to a shiny reveal.
Or, said quickly
under the breath
an almost rhyme
to 'I will,' a promise
to be kept.
Said aloud, the echo
of a smile.
April looks
like a seedling
triumphant
above ground.
Pink blush at night
and apricot light
at dawn.
A ribbon being tied
into a bow.
April feels
like a bud
on the brink
of bloom, all petalled
expectation.
© Siobhán Mc Laughlin
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