**This is a reprint. Originally published in Emerge Literary Journal, Fall 2023

This April isn’t cruel, except
complacency is a bully. Depression
stands aside, and lets it happen. Anxiety
throws a punch or two, kicks to the gut. So
Yes, you’ll find me bruised and bent. But
my own fault, for walking down those alleys. 
April offers sunlight, and fat bees
up to their knees in pollen, birds and rain and
green. My dull roots stir with hope for lilacs
and desire, to mix with all this memory.
My nerves are bad, today,
tonight. Please, let the rain return.
It’s almost May.

Wren Donovan (she/her) lives in Tennessee. Her poetry can be found in Poetry South, Susurrus, Orca, The Shore, Cumberland River Review, Rust + Moth, and elsewhere. Her recent work explores grief, memory, trauma, and healing. When not writing, she reads Tarot cards, history books, and fairy tales. Wren studied at Millsaps College, UNC-Chapel Hill, and University of Southern Mississippi.

Bluesky: @wrendonovan.bsky.social
Website: WrenDonovan.com