The March Snows March

The March Snows March

By Rae Lemke Sprung

 

The march of the March-snows heart is inexorable.
You can’t stop in springtime slush,
it turns to quicksand and pulls
everything possible with it (that includes walking sticks.
That includes girls who don’t know how to make a change).

Spare and chilled and brown inside and out
without reprieve,
without snow boots or warm coats or a scarf around your head.
If you warm up too quick you die. Stay cold. 

You let yourself get this way, the heart whispers
as you shake clinging melted-chocolate slush off your feet
and think about snow blindness and if it’s better than never-changing
sludge-flecked grass as scenery -
You let yourself grow this way
You let him love you this way.

If you warm up too quick you die, he said once to your frost-nipped toes
the very ones that carry you forward now since
you’ll never get warm and you can’t ever stop walking.
Remember how you said you’d never get used to him,
in September? 

Stay cold or die. 
Stay cold and die.
Stay cold and march through the March snows, heart.


Read more poetry by Rae Lemke Sprung

Gillian, Lamented

Garden