I hate it when the month is mad at me
Furious February, Antagonistic April
Months when days spiral into darkness
even before dusk
when the pileup of wreckage serves
only to hide the carnage of failure
of every time I tried & tried again
and fell over the cliff
into desperation
It might be August
heat shimmering
and I flinch from the icy barb
of knowing I’m inadequate
to anything & everything
this month will bring
Its four weeks huddle
lay plans to tangle me in snarls
of barbed wire that once were words
my beloved offered me in anger
They draw maps of the places in my own
dark centre that are vulnerable
to light places that need secrecy
to survive
The 30 days of June conspire
whisper to the ruins of my May
that now will be no better
And I have done nothing
nothing to ignite this retribution
nothing to deserve this streak
of anger
I have done nothing at all