A poem for March

Because March mornings

were so blustery

I felt I had to hold on

to everything

with both hands

and all of my strength

or I would lose

the world.

In my black rubber boots

with my mittens on a string

I wanted to walk up the hill

become taller

larger

big and broad enough to

block the wind.

I wanted to part the clouds

with a swish of my arms

to be

the king – or queen

of the universe.

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