March

In winter I live
like a potato in the earth,
growing eyes in the dark.
I breathe in dirt and worms,
rain black tears.

Bare branches have fallen
in the rainstorm.
My ancestors' hands,
outstretched,
litter the brown ground.

It's not Spring yet,
but the birds have arrived.
I am waiting
for the warmth
and the green buds.

-EL