Hobble Creek Review
| Janice D. Soderling |
November Frost
The opaque sky bleats and staggers,
a bewildered fleece dragged
before indifferent gods. A tender
lip drawn back from fluted teeth,
discordant in surprise. A slash
of something sharp, a clash of
something closing. The uneasy eye
clouds under the skillful blade:
compact whiteness bled of color.
A wheeze of thin wind
empties its meaning, spills
a pale fluid of hours over marbling
fields, a mist, the first frost
falls on suppliant hands.
The opaque sky bleats and staggers,
a bewildered fleece dragged
before indifferent gods. A tender
lip drawn back from fluted teeth,
discordant in surprise. A slash
of something sharp, a clash of
something closing. The uneasy eye
clouds under the skillful blade:
compact whiteness bled of color.
A wheeze of thin wind
empties its meaning, spills
a pale fluid of hours over marbling
fields, a mist, the first frost
falls on suppliant hands.
Janice D. Soderling's work has appeared in Beloit Poetry Journal, Blue
Unicorn, Tar River Poetry, and 42opus. She won first prize in the 2006
Glimmer Train Stories short fiction competition. Janice lives in a small village
in Sweeden.
Unicorn, Tar River Poetry, and 42opus. She won first prize in the 2006
Glimmer Train Stories short fiction competition. Janice lives in a small village
in Sweeden.
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