APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixingMemory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke’s,
My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
There is always the possibility
sometimes born of longing
sometimes offered faintly,
like birdsong in your ear
born of pain.
Life is long for a reason.
So that every chapter swells
with a new chapter of us,
so there is time to change
the meaning of your name
to everyone around you,
When the name that once meant
tired girl comes to mean
she who rose again,
I met a woman
whose house burned down
and in the ashes
she found the blaze of her self.
Now it roars
still angry, sometimes uncontrolled,
always a blinding light.
If you see her on the street,
bow to her courage.
Stare back into her flickering animal eyes,
and know, she is fighting a fight.
-Tara Sophia Mohr