March Equinox
The long finger of winter wags in the afternoon, says so what, says get up.
No wonder I must take the steep path through the too cold,
the package of my body loosely wrapped and rattling like an unfit gift.
I’ll hike to the top of my town.
Feel for myself the thaw, earn for myself the proud sticker
of a new season, and believe in it: the sun, faithfully ablaze
as it crosses an imaginary line. The bitterness unraveling,
I am my own best offering. It lasts but a moment. Call it a minute.
(Originally published in Poet Lore)
