I Roll Out of Bed in April

Writer | Catherine Morse

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I Roll Out of Bed in April

 

I roll out of bed in April.

Not to worry, though.

I am often rolling out of bed.

But when I roll out of bed in April, no longer

The iced over wood floors and the

Shiver-huddle under the blanket during

The walk to the bathroom where the radiator works.

The bathroom stayed uncomfortably warm all winter long.

For that, I can be thankful.

This for once perhaps is not a poem about the weather.

But isn’t the weather always so fucking apropos?

I mean, I spent all winter small tunneling my way

Between the cushions of the couch, wearing socks.

And it’s April.

I walk down the street and drink an iced coffee with

So much cream and I

Vibrate out of my skin like I always do after

I drink too many iced coffees.

I roll out of bed and into bare-legged

Dresses swishing at my kneecaps and yes,

I have to carry an umbrella but it’s like

I can mark the day the seasons changed.

April rolled out of bed, too.

She put on a pair of fresh white sneakers.

She tapped on the tree trunks and woke up...who?

The bees?

The squirrels?

The smell of the wet earth struggling to come back

To life. Hello?

Earthworms on the sidewalk and if I step on one

I could cry but like,

How do my feet avoid them?

And I get to work and find

A tiny slug has attached itself to that bare leg.

As always, my head is

Far up in the clouds, thinking all these “what if” scenarios,

And then writing them in small cursive

That slopes down to the right in a journal with no lines to guide me.

I am finally past needing guidance, I think.

I roll out of bed in April and trust my own two feet

To get me wherever I am going. A road map?

No thanks.

I guess I am no longer expecting confirmation, one way or the other.

If some other path would have been better taken.

I’ve floated along through my life,

Saying what I shouldn’t and doing whatever I want

And holding on to what feels right.

And no X will mark a spot because the spot is just like,

Wherever?

I happen to be?

An unexpected outcome.

I roll out bed in April and not even for a moment do I hesitate.

Not once do I pull the covers above my head, try to burrow deeper.

I roll out of bed in April,

feet on the floor and go.

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