Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Just March

Drizzling days drip down the sidewalks,
Links in a blurry chain
we call March Maddness, drowing in
the sun, the winds, the rain.

Her feline growl scrapes through the storms
and haunts our children's dreams.
She sharpens her claws on riverbeds
That grow from swollen streams.

Her softness of new, baby wool
creeps into the Chinook's blood,
the murmuring magnolia blossoms,
and the aspen's fuzzy bud.

We try to catch her, pin her down,
Define her in a word.
Confine her to a jailed idea
and sharpen what's been blurred.

Is she lion? Is she lamb?
Do we really need to know?
Why can't she just be what she is?
March...unpredictable.

More writing by this author

Blogs on This Site