Hello March

Hello spring.

Hello rain showers

tapping Morse code

against my windows—

Wake up, girl.

Hello flowers,

riotous in pinks and purples,

yellows loud

as Sunday hats,

petals spread wide

like aunties

at a reunion,

saying,

Baby, we made it.

Hello offspring—

little legs pumping

on sidewalks,

braids swinging,

tiny sneakers

stomping puddles

like they own the forecast.

Hello grasses,

stretching long

and unashamed,

green as fresh money,

green as new mercy,

green as the prayer

I whispered

when winter

would not let go.

March,

you sweet, giddy thing.

You bring back the birds

with gossip in their beaks,

the bees

humming baselines,

the sun staying longer

like it finally remembered

my name.

I welcome you

with bare arms,

with a laugh

too big

for February’s coat,

with the kind of joy

only a Black woman knows

after surviving

another cold season

of holding it together.

Come in, spring.

Sit at my table.

Soak my roots.

Paint my spirit loud.

We welcome your arrival—

not quiet,

not cautious,

but clapping,

hip swaying,

face turned upward,

ready for everything

green

and growing

again.