The Frost Line

This morning she was a meadow in frost.
I came from woods to find the field overwritten.
The small, faceless berries were fringed in white hair,
The honeysuckle spiked with cold pickers.
I walked across quickly, the sun balanced on my shoulder.
I slipped into the far woods.
On my return just thirty minutes later,
The frost line had receded,
The field restored to goldenrod and asters.
I wonder:
Were they true,
The words the field said to me
After the dawn,
But before the high sun
Rolled back the frost?
Scott Thomas has a B.A. in Literature from Bard College, a M.S. in
Library Science from Columbia University, and a M.A. in English from the
University of Scranton and is currently employed as a librarian;
specifically, Head of Information Technologies & Technical Services
at the Scranton Public Library in Scranton, PA. He lives in Dunmore, PA
with his wife Christina and his son Ethan. His poems have appeared in
Mankato Poetry Review, The Kentucky Poetry Review, Sulphur River
Literary Review, and other journals.

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