Almost Mid-March \ Now Rises April

Alan: Winter, like all of us, can be vain, even as it starts to show its age.

Almost Mid-March

Winter notices its fat thighs.

It thinks it’s a white beast

breathing down all our necks.

But it looks at itself now

and sees: cellulite.  Or at least

the snow sagging and dimpling

under this outrage of sun.

This breeze from afar.

Just days ago winter, sorcerer,

sorceress? – this ungendered maw,

taut belly of need, held us,

batted us around as it willed.

But today?  Today winter

looks at the calendar.

Almost mid-March.  Suddenly

it’s tired, tired of all its tricks

and tired of itself.  Time,

thinks winter, for a vacation.

Time to attend to those thighs.

Time enough to go

and come back ravenous

and roaring one more time.

Nancy: Waiting for a day of mild air, a day when I might take a deep breath and hum an old tune from my childhood.

Now Rises April

as from a winter sleep

     as from a dark constellation

April rises: birdsong, watersong

     green shoots, promise of flowers

saltmarsh perfume, call of shorebirds

     as from a dark sleep

I rise, surprised, take a step

     toward rising light

toward the promise of flowers

     an old woman

singing

fair, fair is the morning