Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #138
April's Cold Hands
by Belinda Roddie
April's cold hands caressed my naked back
as I sat on the patio, drinking
a tall flute of pink lemonade, a stack
of books beside me. "So, I was thinking,"
she murmured, "that we could go see a show
tonight, and then take a long walk under
the stars. We'll stop at a bar that I know,
down chilled beers, and pretend that it's summer."
But I was focusing on my neighbor -
her name was May, and she sat on a lawn
chair, soaking in the spring sun, and her
hair glistened in the light. I stopped a yawn,
slurped up the last sweetness in my glass, and
left April behind for sweet May's warm hand.
by Belinda Roddie
April's cold hands caressed my naked back
as I sat on the patio, drinking
a tall flute of pink lemonade, a stack
of books beside me. "So, I was thinking,"
she murmured, "that we could go see a show
tonight, and then take a long walk under
the stars. We'll stop at a bar that I know,
down chilled beers, and pretend that it's summer."
But I was focusing on my neighbor -
her name was May, and she sat on a lawn
chair, soaking in the spring sun, and her
hair glistened in the light. I stopped a yawn,
slurped up the last sweetness in my glass, and
left April behind for sweet May's warm hand.
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