Poet’s Corner: Real March Madness


By Elaine Boettcher

The cold and bitter winds of March

encased in ice the cherry blossoms

snapped the wildly waving limbs

of black and brittle trees,

hurled shingles from the trembling shed,

smack-crashed the kitchen window

Listen to its moans and groans,

its slams and bumps and bangs.

This is a Fury and a Rage

delivered to the earth

a warning to defilers of the land,

a punishment, some think.

Yet, still cling the crisp-ed oak leaves

to their silver speckled arms with

wringing brown and wrinkled hands.

“Not yet,” “not yet,” they cry,

like little ones protesting bedtime,

like older ones protesting death.

Now, as I watch the smudge pot clouds

relay run the vast sky course,

viewing in quiet fascination

switchbacks and flashes of their race

I long to updraft in March’s wind

to borrow power, to steal some strength.

Elaine Boettcher is a retired nursing professor who discovered writing poetry at the Poets Collective in Edgartown, when she returned to the Island to live out the best years of her life.