When We Have Moved Away This feels more like late April, maybe even early May. Where I’m from, March doesn’t ride his Harley down the empty street, bringing you a swath of pussywillows or a handful of yellow and purple crocus flowers. He doesn’t cover your face with unrelenting kisses until you take off your wool sweater and turtleneck, leaving you in the backyard out of sight of the neighbors, sun warming your winter white skin.
Sonja Johanson has recent work appearing in The Albatross, Redheaded Stepchild, and Off the Coast, is a contributing editor at the Found Poetry Review, and is the 2015 recipient of the Zero Bone and Kudzu Poetry Prizes. Sonja divides her time between work in Massachusetts and her home in the mountains of western Maine.