For the day and for those missing it, from poetryfoundation.org.

from flag / by Jacqueline Woodson

and once offstage, we run free, sing
‘America the Beautiful’ and ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’
far away from our families—knowing every word

For anyone who needs reassurance that the future probably won’t be like this, from Rattle, Summer 2016.

from Dear Citizen / by Ron Koertge

The letter you received last Tuesday, the one with
the official seal, was not meant for you. We hope
you have not read it.

For our daughter’s 15th birthday today, from The Art of Drowning.

from On Turning Ten / by Billy Collins

You tell me it is too early to be looking back, 
but that is because you have forgotten 
the perfect simplicity of being one 
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two. 
But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit. 
At four I was an Arabian wizard. 
I could make myself invisible 
by drinking a glass of milk a certain way. 
At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince. 

For moon rocks and Cork, from horoscopes for the dead.

from Memento Mori / by Billy Collins

It doesn’t take much to remind me
what a mayfly I am,
what a soap bubble floating over the children’s party.

For whatever the weather we’ll weather it whether it’s stormy or sun, from The Best American Poetry 2015, edited by Sherman Alexis, series editor David Lehman.

from for i will do/undo what was done/undone to me / by Chen Chen

                  i pledge allegiance to the weather
report that promises more snow, plus freezing rain.
though i would minus the plural & plus the multitude

of messages pressed muddy into the perfectly
mutable snow

For Day 12 of National Poetry Month from one UF alumna to another and from her book, The Bigger World.

from Love Story / by Noelle Kocot

‘Let’s live in a blue house together,
Have blue house children, and
Live under the fragile still-
Life of the stars.’

For rivers and CAPT S., from poetryfoundation.org.

from Somewhere between here and Belen / by Jay Wright

Think now of the intimate authority of La Candelaria,
the Sunday morning concert,
the walk through the abandoned streets,
where all was an occasion of Bogotá,
a memory of Mazatlán

For James Tate and for his diner, from poetryfoundation.org.

from Jim’s All-Night Diner / by James Tate

imagine you have seen the world,
the very real world,

or a small jade buddha
falling from a red cloud.

For windless nights and limelight, from The Best American Poetry 2015, guest editor Sherman Alexie, series editor David Lehman.

from On the Sadness of Wedding Dresses / by James Galvin

A few lucky wedding dresses
Get worn by daughters — just once more,
then back to the closet.

For piecing life together, from The Best American Poetry 2015, guest editor Sherman Alexie, series editor David Lehman.

from Makeshift / by Catherine Bowman

From two pieces of string and oil-fattened feathers he made a father.
She made a mother from loss buttons and ocean debris.