March

I reckon I have something to say about March.
March is the friend that will not leave-
"Yawn. It's getting late. Yep. Better hit the hay."
March is a bully- barking "March!" left.left.left.right.left.
March where exactly? Somewhere warmer I guess.
The snow now sits in mounds. Just stupid mounds,
leaving bald spots that reveal the scabby yellow Earth.
March is the awkward preteen phase with acne and braces.
But more than any of that, March is you-
Winter is dead, lonely longing and Spring is young new love-
And then there is March. You. March 13th to be exact:
The one that no one really knows what to do with.
A fish out of water, really; You are March.
Bullying and awkward and stubborn and confusing.
But you know what. March is the first inkling that
Things could change, March is when I hear the first songbird
Outside my window in the morning, March is the first early
Sunrise and this feeling in the air- March is patience, and hope.
And, you know what, I think I might just love March.