April Song
There’s a sorrow nesting on my balcony.
I could not get it to leave;
I fear death by drowning more than it does.
Perhaps after the summer it would leave,
together with the cruel hues and the leaves.
Teach me the anatomy of melancholy, so I could
understand this body: why it refuses to
love and be loved, why it craves
destruction but fears death.
At night, I frighten myself by my own hunching shadow
like a scheming villain: I’m the witch and the princess,
I’m the curse without a kiss.