La pluie tombe.
The rain is falling.
Rien ne me plâit aujourd’hui.
Nothing pleases me today.
Pouvez-vous deviner à quoi je pense?
Can you guess what I am thinking of?
C’est nous.
It is we.
C’est vous.
It is you.
Nous nous aimons l’un l’autre.
We love one another.
(C’est assez.
It’s enough.)
Qui a un appétit de loup?
Who is as hungry as a wolf?
C’est nous.
It is we.
Si je l’avais vu, je lui aurais parlé.
If I had seen him, I would have spoken to him.
C’est vous.
It is you.
Si elle avait cherché un peu plus longtemps, elle l’aurait trouvé.
If she had looked a little longer, she would have found it.
Je ne la connais pas.
I do not know her.
(Mais, ça ne fait rien.
But, that doesn’t matter.)
Tant à voir.
So much to see.
Tant de choses.
So many things.
Rien ne me plâit aujourd’hui.
Nothing pleases me today.
Qu’est-ce que ça veut dire?
What does that mean?
Overnight Frost
We weed through fragile life
rooted in this garden; stems
hold firm, guard against frosts,
freezes, burns. Petal and leaf
huddle as we pluck the dead,
encourage the living.
Grief waters our roots
where beneath this soil,
companionship is tucked in
closer to Mother Earth’s core;
where whiskers and paws
once roamed above ground.
We must never leave
this place, the garden and bed
too much to move, the remains
of what lives too tightly wound
beneath this earth.
Lori A. May is the author of four books, including stains: early poems. Her work has appeared in publications such as The Writer, Rattle, Two Review, Writer's Digest, and anthologies such as Van Gogh's Ear. Lori is also the founding editor of Poets' Quarterly and an associate editor with Northern Poetry Review. A native of Canada, Lori now lives and writes on the shores of Michigan. More information is available online at www.loriamay.com.