March right in
with all your green finery,
shake snow dust
from your limbs, your hat.
Sit, I’ve made tea.
Not those tired kinds
you wrote you would have no more of—
as you say, it’s time for oolong.
I read your letter. Again and again. Especially
after the sun turned her lights down before
I’d even have a chance to start the day.
I know she needs her rest
but honestly, she can be such a diva.
4pm? I feel faint. Quick, I need my brandy and eye mask.
She’s been this way for months now.
Can you talk to her? Ah, I see you already have,
and the day seems longer for it.
And those cherry trees and daffodils
are yellow, pink, and promising.
So I won’t complain to April—look here she comes—
or hold it against you,
when the gloomy wind blows
stinging rain against my cheek.
I, uh. . .
© 2017 Jennifer Wagner
Inspired by Emily Dickinson’s Dear March – Come In –.