March Madness

A News Response Poem

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In like a lion,
unpredictable and fickle:
one day a woosh of warm air,
green tips shooting up,
peeking out from under dried leaves, 
the next day, ground covered with snow.
In like a lion, blistery rain, damp and gray 
and wet, endless dreary chill.
You roar with defiance and we cower.

Oh March, you tease us with shamrocks
and basketball, the beauty of the Blood Moon,
the occasional burst of sun,
but mostly it is sleet and more rain,
high winds and risk of fire,
icy roads and another blizzard, 
so much uncertainty, so much waiting.
Your month accelerates the tension,
the illusion that nothing will ever change.

We ask in desperation, 
where is the lamb, when will it end?
At this point we just have to believe, 
to have faith, to scan for the signs, 
a chartreuse blade of grass, 
a red bullet of rhubarb poking up, 
barely visible. But look carefully: 
the road construction has geared up,
the ice on the pond is gone,
the mallard ducks are floating seamlessly,
paddling away in the cold water, 
a blue heron spreads its wings 
and soars to the top of the cedar tree.
The musky smell of thaw is all around.
What we can’t see is right in front of us. 

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Author’s Note: As the blizzard hit many parts of our state and snow landed on our lawn and porch, this headline from the Des Moines Register stood out : “Spring officially started Thursday, but is Iowa done with snow for the winter?”

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