April Fox

When April Fox was born, her father said she looked like a skinned squirrel. That was probably true, but nonetheless, the slight clearly damaged her developing psyche, and she grew into a strange child who had a hard time paying attention to much of anything that wasn't bound and in print. Early report cards made note of her reluctance to participate in class discussions and her inability to shut up when she wasn't supposed to be talking. She had a tendency to question authority a little too much, and made several trips to the middle school guidance counselor to discuss the disturbing assignments she turned in for Language Arts.

Her teenage years found her falling in love with heavy metal and punk rock music, and sparked an affection for handsome, tattooed musicians. (This affection lives on, which is fortunate for her husband of matching description.) She was drawn to the anger and social conscience of punk rock, and this is reflected a bit in her current writing. In addition to poetry, she writes musician interviews and concert and album reviews for various outlets.

April's words are occasionally sweet, often angry, and always honest; she has never tried to sit down and write a poem, aside from that one time in 7th grade when she attempted to write something hideous so she wouldn't be asked to write anymore. (Boy, did that backfire. See above, with the guidance counselor.) What's in her head gets spit out onto the keyboard, hit with a cursory glance to try and catch any glaring typographical errors, and it's done. No editing, no going back and searching for the perfect turn of phrase: it is poetry in its most raw incarnation, and the emotions that inspire the word-spew come through in the reading.

Not much has changed since the skinned squirrel learned to read. She still has a limited attention span, still questions everything, and still bears a striking resemblance to a rodent. But it has been a long and frightening path from then to now, and these are the words that brought her to the end-not entirely separate from the rage, but happy, after all.

She is settled, now, in Western North Carolina, where she lives a blissfully quiet existence with her husband, Matt, their daughter Ruthie, and a fat cat named Bart.