FALL 2013 (Issue 80)

Brendan Egan

April in the Basin

          The chorus of Lazarus:

Our sisters plead for us, and we are raised
stubbornly from winter. Thirsty, we face
the rain, witness all the moths opening
up from the dead clay—loose bandages
tattering off. 

                        We find the scraps of wings
for weeks on sidewalks, the window ledges,
in the bed clothes, where they instead find us—
dozing, patched with their camouflage.
The cup of this season, emptied and gilt with dust—
who takes our blame if we are left unslaked
by its few tears and this, too brief awakening?