march is still winter

by Devon Neal

she reminds me every year

as I go out to wake the bear

of the lawnmower – the hiss

of air pumping into old tires,

the stomach pump of an oil quart,

the deep star scent of old gasoline.

I urge her toward the new decor

of sunflowers big as cantaloupes,

signs jagged with flower spears,

the catalogue of new annuals

we’ll find new homes for. It still gets cold,

she reminds me, and every year,

she’s right. Even now, the early dogwoods,

eager blooms so early in March air,

collect snowflakes on their new fingers,

swelling like crystal beehives

in the stubborn winter morning.

Devon Neal (he/him) is a Kentucky-based poet whose work has appeared in many publications, including HAD, Stanchion, Stone Circle Review, Livina Press, and The Storms, and has been nominated for Best of the Net. He currently lives in Bardstown, KY with his wife and three children.