every day this week, almost
a girl brought me a poem about march
and every one alluded to flowers
and spring
and part of me said, nice try
and part of me said, hooray
I said thank you for the poems
and I told her they were great
***
At market this morning
I didn’t buy pussy willows
or a pot of daffodils
I kept wondering why
and suspected myself
of reveling in gloom and winter
and nothing-getting-better-ness
or maybe nothing-getting-better-yet-ness
which is a bit more hopeful
I finally determined to
get the pussy willows
but they were gone
so I got nothing at all
for brightening up the house
until this evening when
I bought a yellow begonia
and it was a piece of
loving-gratefulness