March

 

 

 

March

 

Each day is the same.

The black trees awake wearing sweaters of snow.

And all day the snow comes,

steady and slow.

 

Spring stirs.

Beneath her blankets, she stretches;

her yawns full of warmth.

She is waking.  Her belly gurgles and groans

with the longing

after long sleep.
 

Each afternoon, the roads emerge

slick and stark beside the snow;

their banks pitted with dirt.

And the black branches shine,

strung with jewels of melt.

 

 

 

 

 

Twilight invites the shadows in

and the lights disappear into a sky of snow.

The world is muffled,

silent and still except for the snow sifting,

steady and slow.

And each morning,

the trees dress again

in their sleeves of angora.

 

Spring grows restless,

as melt-water throbs

through her veins.  Her hunger rises

and she aches to swallow

the snow.

 

But

winter whispers,

“Not yet, not yet….”

 

This is a draft of a poem on which I’m working.  It seems that March days are all the same yet there are subtle changes, bringing the hope of spring.  Words and photos are copyright ©Carol Steel.