April is National Poetry Month.

And while I can't promise a poem a day, I'm going to try to post some of my favorites throughout the month. Enjoy.

From Ninety-five Nights of Listening by Malinda Markham:

Postcard--Without Grace


Mosquitoes unstrung the night. Twice sleep broke,
you said, Enough. Then the night--

And the many of waiting three hours for headlights
and swift, thorough sleep. Who knows

what can be understood later from this, my hair grayed
at the nape, nails growing like roots in the dark.

The apartment above opened and closed
all night: The hinge spoke. Once I told you

everything I knew in a language
you did not speak. This is love, is division,

a pile of memories catalogued like stars.
What seems to burn a trick of time,

of loss. From this angle I remember you best
and which photo most resembles--

Trees smell differently this many miles away.
When you call there are sirens, machinery

neither can name. From here on, history is nothing
but waiting. The background

panoramic, larger than life. From this far away,
which speck are you. I am this one, I'm sure. I am here.