March is the most hideous month of the year in Wisconsin. When the snow melts, it reveals Winter's dirty secrets. Everything that Winter had killed, frozen, and buried now reappears; it thaws and rots in the first warmth of spring like a corpse unearthed and set before the sun. The grass on every hillside turns a dull and sickly yellow, the branches reach out as bare as bones, and every footstep is mired in mud. It is all for the sake of a coming resurrection, and soon the fields and forests will live again in splendor. It just takes time. Spring will not be hurried in making its miracles. Meanwhile, even March conceals a trace of beauty for those curious enough to look. As evidence...

I. Snow shrinks before a blue sky near the forest's edge, where grass will soon be greening:

II. Last year's apples still hang in their leafless branches, shriveled and rotting. These might not put Snow White to sleep, but they would probably give her a stomachache:

III. Sunlight pierces the woods, undaunted by as-yet leafless tree-limbs, and maple trunks stand like the pillars of an ancient ruin:

IV. Moss grows at the foot of an old stump while melting snow glimmers in the sunlight:

V. Boulders stand by while a stream of meltwater sweeps beneath sheets of thawing ice:

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I am taking a Creative Writing course at school this semester. We've just finished the half of the class dedicated to poetry, and I thought I would take the occasion to share one of the my poems. Thanks to my classmates for their helpful suggestions and encouragement. With no further ado:

Poem to a Kleenex

At last you slipped into your white dress
and rose to join us, ready, smiling
when I picked you up and pulled you in
until finally we came so close
you felt my breath against your chin.

You'd waited forever for this, watching
companions get plucked up by young suitors,
one, two, another over your head.
Was the bottom of the pile so bad
in the meantime, when you were cushioned
by friends? I don't know what tissues
get up to when left to their own devices,
but I bet you had fun in that box
when no one was looking. Maybe you miss those days
now, but I know you dreamed for better
things. Then I came along (as if I was your dream!),
and maybe for a moment we felt like forever—

but there was barely time to blink before
I tossed you to the trash can,
soggy and spent, crumpled and crushed.
I know my sorry doesn't mean much
when you're at the bottom of the bin,
covered in gum wrappers and banana peels.
Your new neighbors will never know whose nose
needed you, and when the trash collector
comes, he won't care whose tears
you dried.