It's that Month again

National Poetry Month has arrived. This is the day of the year when I ponder the irony of identifying a time specifically for poetry. Why is it necessary? Because its value will be lost, forgotten, otherwise? Because 30 days a year is all we can stand of it? It feels like an endangered species act to me.

But then again, there are lots of other important things being honored in April which are not necessarily endangered. I have researched and learned that this is also (apparently) Alcohol Awareness Month, Emotional Overeating Awareness Month, Learn Thai Month, National DNA & Genomics & Stem Cell Education & Awareness month, National Pet First Aid Awareness Month, Prevent Lyme in Dogs Month (which seems a little redundant to me), Soy Foods Month, Stress Awareness Month, and Workplace Conflict Awareness Month (especially important for those times when one worker has had it with another worker's insistence on reciting poetry in April).

At any rate, in honor of the label assigned to the month, and because I just saw her read 9 days ago, here's an Ellen Bass poem. It's from her new book, due out in June.

DON'T EXPECT APPLAUSE
-Tibetan Buddhist maxim

And yet, wouldn't it be welcome
at the end of each ordinary day?
The audience could be small,
the theater modest. Folding chairs
in a church basement would do.
Just a short earnest burst of applause
that you got up that morning
and, one way or another,
made it through the day.

You soaped up in the steaming
shower, drank your Starbucks
in the car, and let the guy with the
Windex wipe your windshield
during the long red light at Broad Street.
Or maybe you were that guy,
not daring to light up
while you stood there because
everyone's so down on smoke these days.

Or you kissed your wife
as she hurried out the door, even though
you were pretty sure she was
meeting her lover at the Flamingo Motel,
even though you wanted to grab her
by a hank of her sleek hair.

Maybe your son's in jail.
Your daughter's stopped eating.
And your husband's still dead
this morning, just like he was
yesterday and the day before that.
And yet you put on your shoes
and take a walk, and when a neighbor
says Good morning, you say
Good morning back.

Would a round of applause be amiss?
Even if you weren't good.
If you yelled at your kid,
poisoned the ants, drank too much
and said that really stupid thing
you promised yourself you wouldn't say.
Even if you don't deserve it.

by Ellen Bass