A Killing Frost

When the moisture hanging in the air
condenses,
while you are traveling on a train,
closely watch these chilly nights
for the cloudless sky, sometimes means
a killing frost.

And when one night while breathing
open air, on a sleeted road,
somewhere lost
between aisles of frosted evergreens,

your nerves swell
then burst apart.

First published in Monongahela Issue V, 2010

This poem was inspired by a news article I read many years ago about a killing frost that had damaged some crops in a state (I don’t remember where it was). I was living in California at the time, and I tried to imagine what a real winter was like. I experienced my first winter in Korea back in 2011. I thought that was cold, but I was wrong. The coldest place I’ve ever been was Maine. I went on a trip with a couple of friends to Madrid, Maine, for Thanksgiving.

We went on a short hike at night to see the stars in the forest. That was the coldest I’ve ever been. I don’t remember what the temperature was but being from southern California, I had never felt that cold before. The word “cold” can’t even describe how I felt, even though I was bundled up and had bought all my winter clothes from L.L. Bean.

What's the coldest place you've ever been to?

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