dear march,

I hope that you are well,
And that you are less tragic than last month, 
Though, the ides are fast approaching, 
Tell me, what do you have in store for us?
Twenty-three daggers to the heart?
Twenty-three licks with a belt?
Twenty-three more shocks to the system?
Will you show us no mercy?
Just a little?
Just a teaspoon?

No, that’s not in your nature, is it?
After all, you were named after Mars, 
The god of war, 
You thrive on conflict, 
Malice surges through your veins, 
You’re looking for a battle, 
Blitzkrieg, 
Bloodshed. 
Until you’re standing above the carnage 
Of our mangled and twisted and lifeless bodies
You won’t be satisfied, will you?

But it’s fine, 
I’ll just play dead. 
I am resilient, 
I’ve built a sturdy front porch, 
I’ll ride out your storm, 
And in your wake, 
Despite the destruction,
Despite your tricks,
This winter will melt into spring, 
The tulips will grow, 
And I will bloom. 

Sincerely yours, 

Zach