Anton Frost

A prediction

Some days are pure snowfall.
A clean, hollow-seeming landscape.

Some days seem as afraid as I am

to pass through town,
to look around as if holding flowers,

as if waiting for someone

The sadness of most days
is the sadness of never having strung my wash 

on a line, holding fabrics
up near my face as if trying to catch


as if trying to impose forms
onto the light that would fall into them

gratefully, as if finally able 
to rest.

"There are so few opportunities 
to spread my arms,"

the light says.

Every night a skin of ice
covers the stream banks,

broken then

by morning light.  Once free 
the water runs toward the woods, 

carrying the light's genes

Walking through some of the oldest sounds on earth
I remember so little of what was real

for the sake of remembering 

I make a prediction.
The lake converts Fahrenheit

to Celsius by turning opal,
by sliding a broken fish

up the freezing sand
as if making the land

an offer.
The land


Anton Frost's work has appeared in Verdad, Parcel, The Bacon Review, Third Wednesday,  Grasslimb, and elsewhere.  He lives in Grand Haven, Michigan.



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Indran Amirthanayagam

Nan Becker

C. Wade Bentley

Gigi Bradford on Hailey Leithauser

Patricia Davis

Stephen Devereux

Gail Rudd Entrekin

C.M. Foltz

Anton Frost

Paul Grayson

Hedy Habra

Patricia L. Hamilton

Maryanne Hannan on Suzette Marie Bishop

Donald Illich

Sonja James

Judy Kronenfeld

Hiram Larew

Jeanne Larsen

Sean Lause

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David McAleavey on Terence Winch

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George Moore

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Rebecca Parson

Beth Paulson

Patric Pepper

Simon Perchik

Heddy Reid

Oliver Rice

William Rivera

Joseph Saling

Dave Seter

Felicity Sheehy

Robert Joe Stout

Paul Tayyar

Jennifer Wallace

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