One more April ends—
 
I keep forgetting to spread
 
my father’s ashes.

 

 
 
 

April afternoon—
 
an old man blowing smoke rings
 
makes some children laugh.

 

 
 
 

Chilly April day—
 
my old, arthritic tabby
 
snoozes by the fire.

 

 
 
 

April’s first mishap—
 
I stumble on a pebble
 
near the garden gate.

 
 
 

Cloudless April day—
 
I walk a desert pathway,
 
consoled by birdsong.

 
 
 

An April morning—
 
finches and sparrows bless me
 
with their waking songs.

 
 
 

April afternoon—
 
I mulch the yellow roses,
 
then sneak a quick nap.

 
 
 

Ninth day of April—
 
my daughter-in-law’s cancer
 
blooms with abandon.

 
 
 

Eighth day of April—
 
near pear trees white with blossoms
 
we sip our coffee.

 
 
 

Third day of April—
 
an unexpected rainstorm
 
changes all my plans.