A bit of poem by Joyce E. Peseroff
On the Instagram feed of The Paris Review, I saw this extract of Joyce E. Peseroff’s poem, ‘April to May’. It moved me very much. Even though here in the Southern Hemisphere we’re moving into rather than out of winter, it’s timely, according to the calendar if not the seasons, to reproduce it. I hope you enjoy it, too.
It is cold enough for rain
to coagulate & fall in heavy drops.
Tonight a skin of ice will grow
over the bones of the smallest bush,
making it droop like the wrist
of someone carrying a heavy suitcase. This moving on,
from season to season, is exhausting
& violent, the break from the Berlin Wall
of winter especially. Like a frostbitten
hand coming to life, I colour
first with warmth,
then with pain.