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
before
headlining,
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. . .
I
promise.
©
2017 Jennifer Wagner
Inspired by Emily Dickinson’s Dear March – Come In –.