Apricity
When the sun finally appeared from behind the clouds
And the kudzu, slick with rain, perked up
And the air was clear and the parched Earth replenished
The cold slunk back into the shadows.
And seated on the patio with my morning coffee
The apricity of the day
made me feel as though
it all would turn out
That somehow
Despite the sullen days of January
I had regained energy not felt for years.
Why do we carve our names into trees when we’re in love?
Are they footholds to catch us when we fall?
As if to remind us that,
“Yes, you’ve been here before.”
A Collection of Poems
Corey Michael Hines is a Brooklyn-based writer and poet with roots spread across the American South. He received his BFA in Writing from the Savannah College of Art and Design in 2014 and has been featured in Volume Poetry, Artemis, le NAVIGATEUR, and Oxford American’s Eyes on the South.
1–2 minutes
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