How else explain but
that it’s a month ruled
by the God of War and
two fish tied together
swimming in opposite directions?
How else explain the howling,
the hurtling about of whole trees,
the petulant pelting of sleet
abruptly transformed by furious heat
into torrential tributaries, and
with a frosty glance, as quickly
chilled to ice?
Yet even this dark comedy cannot
contain Thalia’s indomitable spirit.
She parts the thick grey curtain,
swirls ice cream clouds through
the frozen blue, and with her trumpet
summons her sisters Grace and Mirth
to set downy feathers adrift with
lilting elegance, then cues a sunburst,
a perfect dazzling spotlight on this
glistening mortal stage, illuminating
the long-awaited ending to her play:
a patch of new spring green, three robins,
and a single spray of snowdrops.
by Joyce Ritchie
Editor’s Note: March is generally considered to be “false spring” hereabouts, and the first stanza’s clever imagery describes the “dark comedy” of weather we all must endure if we wish to enjoy the flowers that come after.
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