MARCH
By Pamela Cravez, Anchorage
I am sitting at my window watching the snow, lint
Adrift on the breeze, steady
Yet invisible to my camera when I try to capture these bits of mist
That are accumulating, an inch, maybe two,
The persistence and deception of March, treading toward spring.
For a year I’ve lived in March, watching snow accumulate
Even as days get longer.
I steal myself on cold, cold mornings that leave frost on my windshield
And feel the tug of brilliant sunny days.
Every March I tell myself this is the way it is.
No matter.
Every March I know spring will come.