What’s up with April? Why does it seem to offer an endless litany of bad news and horrific revelations? It seems so counter-intuitive — April is a month of spring. Snows melt and flowers bloom. The dark winter is behind us and the promise of summer sun ahead. And yet, civilization seem to be bent upon destruction in new and ever more unbelievable ways.

April is, of course, the anniversary of Columbine and Virginia Tech — both of which have been receiving a great deal of (often quite creepy because so nostalgic) news coverage lately.

Historiann has been keeping track of one of the patterns of this month: husbands/fathers killing their families. She asks, quite trenchantly, “how many women and children (especially girl children …) have to die before someone notices?” The most recent incident, involving the U Georgia prof who shot his wife and two others, somehow manages to tie together the domestic violence trend with the university shooting trend. (News reports emphasize that the shootings occurred “near the campus.”)

Much closer to home, one of my friends was the victim of terrible violence by her husband, the father of her children — and only barely managed to escape being one of those women in a news article on husbands/fathers killing their families. I am not capable of saying more about this except to underscore how much it has contributed to my feeling that the world has turned topsy-turvey this month.

I saw a pack of dogs attack and probably kill a cat this weekend and this morning witnessed the flailing death throes of a squirrel after the car in front of mine drove directly over it.

And now there’s the swine flu.

Between the constant hovering threat of terrorism, the fear that the economy will collapse and we’ll find ourselves living in a Mad Max society, that the polar icecaps will melt and we’ll be swallowed up by an tsunami, that an irate student will burst into our classroom and open fire, the possibility that the people that we love the most — our family members, our lovers — may try to kill us, and now the fucking swine flu pandemic … the world seems entirely made up of dangers.

Meanwhile, the weather is so beautiful, my tomato plants are starting to bud, and classes are almost over. So, why can’t I shake the feeling of dread?

I’m holding my breath for May.

While the title of this post is taken from Eliot’s “The Waste Land,” I actually want to include my other favorite poem about the perils of April:

“Spring” by Edna St. Vincent Millay

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.