52 Comments

Yes. Yes. I feel this way right this moment. In bed. Cool spring air. Rippling sheets. I feel this metaphorically.

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I love how the curtains roll and dance in the wind. Sheer white curtains, cold air whispering or blowing, I am happy.

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Thanks!

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Wonderful! This truly captures the contradictions of a season that neither wants to start nor end...

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Alexie is a master of making seemingly separate spheres ( contradictions) work to illuminate connections. I think this skill is of particular value in our present historical moment of seemingly absolute differences between people and perspectives.

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Thank you.

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Your last name is perfect for the poem, too!

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Sherman, this is beautiful and perfect. One thing it reminds me of is the anonymous 16th century English poem:

Westron wynde when wyll thow blow

the smalle rayne downe can Rayne

Cryst yf my love were in my Armys

and I yn my bed Agayne

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Thank you, Dick. And I do see the echo in that poem. Me exhoing it!

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Sometimes it snows in April.

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Prince!

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We read your poem in bed last night. The window was cracked. The wind cold. Perfect.

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Awesome!

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Helps to thin out the blood for summer's heat!

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In haiku they talk about how the reader brings 50 % of the interpretation into the poem. Lots of beautiful space for you reader to do just that! I am a defy the furnace person myself...after midnight, when I do dishes i always open the window over the sink...even in, and especially in winter or spring.....

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Ah, doing dishes in the cold!

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Great poem Sherman...and apropos for my location. It was 80 degrees here yesterday but a front came through yesterday evening...today's high (at midnight) was 49deg and tonight there's a chance of snow. There's been a couple back-n-forths like that this spring, very, very warm to cold......spring, getting smooshed between the chest beating of Winter and Summer.

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We haven’t had much weather variation in Seattle. Ugh.

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I have always preferred to be a little chilled to too warm. April with Nature's rebirth has always been one of my favorite months. It could also have something to do with by birthday in May. Love the poem.

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Yes, the transition between seasons contains both.

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An addendum to the comment I just wrote - two nights ago when I was curled up under blankets and quilts, trying to deal with chills, I thought of your story of your father in the hospital and your scouring the hallways for blankets for him. It's been years since I read that but it still brings tears to my eyes. I think I've remembered correctly.

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Oh, wow, you just brought tears to my eyes. That was a fictional short story based on real events. I did go searching for extra blankets when my father was freezing in post-operation recovery.

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I'm having the opposite reaction.....I've been sick for a few days and can't get warm. The East wind from the Cascades is cutting through my poorly-insulated house. I'm going outside to get some firewood for the wood stove!

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Oh, no! I hope you get well soon!

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While I appreciate modern conveniences like heating and cooling, they do separate us from what's actually happening in nature. You make that point so much more elegantly.

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Thank you, Carol. Perhaps I had a queen-sized moment of atavism!

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The "shiver" is a good reminder of better days to come, but I, for one, am totally ready for a wake-up-to-warm morning!

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Well, I could write a poem about getting into the car this last Friday and feeling the warmth of the greenhouse effect for the first time in 2023!

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Yep. Especially in April. Defy the furnace.

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Thank you!

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Lovely and evocative and resonates with goosebumps on my skin. It makes me miss Seattle Aprils. (I believe that’s your haunt). I talked to my best friend yesterday, as she was trapped in her car in Bothell by a needle fine rain that turned to hail, while I told her about the sultry, swampy heat I was fighting on my porch, in midland South Carolina. Wonderful stuff, your poem. Thank you.

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Yes, I'm in Seattle, where the cold persists...

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Please feel free to send it South and East. I miss the pearl light and precarious weather of Seattle, among so many other things. Here, in the swamp, the mosquito clouds come next, to drink our congealed, over warmed blood.

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I grew up where the summer mosquitoes were bigger than us!

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Like the feeling in me...a satisfying moment chosen by me.

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Thank you, Vel.

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