April is flying like the birds back to Chicago.

With just over a week left of poetry month, and my little blitz here looking a little more like a light sprinkling, here are two poems for your reading delight. These poems were written by a poet who I owe my whole poetry career to, the most kind-hearted person I've known. It's a good day when I find an email in my inbox from this poet, Jack Ridl. These are my two favorites.

Traveling Back

[Jack Ridl]

After his wife's funeral,

he pulled his car off

the back road, stopped

beside Wilson Lake and

watched the fog over the

water. It was a place

he knew well, a place where

the fog always came, a tired,

good dog sleeping at his feet.

He wondered what

grief was and why

it sat in him like the

stars. She had been

an empty glass, summer,

a quilt at the end of the bed.

She had been the words

he never said. There

was no moon. The night

was a mute savant. He

wanted to fly. He 

wanted to go home.

Living in the Twenty-First Century

[Jack Ridl]

Long before there was this day

another day came. Maybe it rained

or there was a little sunlight. People

got up and did what they always do.

Birds sang and the cats wanted out,

or in. You and I weren't here,

but the world didn't know. Trees

grew and nobody noticed. Someone

was cruel. Someone else

tried not to be. Maybe the weather

shifted unexpectedly and plans

had to be changed. This morning

we watched our day begin. We

wondered if it would be good,

wondered if it would rain.

L. Stacks