Poetry Marches On

I thought this month’s poem would come easy(easier) - March is full of poeticism and my routine has also had its share of poetic changes/ups and downs/shake ups. And yet, I’m learning (once again) that inspiration rarely strikes on its own...you have to reach out, grab it, hold it tight, and wrestle with it. Then hope it sticks to the page (or computer screen).

I started a version of this poem last Thursday, the day before the official start of Spring. It felt good to say goodbye to winter, even if only the calendar version. Winter didn’t seem to want to leave, though. It clung to everything, even the air. Today is another day like that - where winter/the blues/blah-ness seems to cling. Things are gross and the week trudges on, ever so slowly. Here’s hoping everyone finds a little spring today, somewhere (mine’s in the tulips on the counter at work).

The Last Full Day of Winter

It’s dark

when I wake up

when I leave the house

when I get on the train, and even as it descends into the tunnel.

The sky only barely registers as navy when it emerges again.

The air slips past all my layers and seems to rush right into me

so that the cold seems to come from my own shivering core.

It’s only as I drive the kids to school that the sun makes any real appearance,

stretching out from behind thin clouds,

smudging the sky with pale yellow streaks.

“It’s still winter,” everything says.

“No use trying too hard.”