Sprinkle milkweed seeds
after black frost, killing frost,
wait for spring.
Dry winds push in polar air,
frigid cloudless nights
turn plant tissues black.
Trees and bushes
furry with hoar frost,
white hair of old age.
No springtime
in rot of an aging mind,
dormant thoughts unvoiced.
Killing frost of decline,
white rot decay
enters old birch trees.
Chaga mushrooms
exit frosted bark,
black as burnt charcoal.
Spring thaw, frost heaves,
ice needles through soil,
new milkweed grows.
Meg Freer grew up in Missoula, Montana and studied musicology in Minnesota and New Jersey, where she also worked in scholarly book publishing. She now teaches piano and theory, takes photos, enjoys the outdoors year-round in Ontario, and wishes she had more time to write poetry. Her photos, poems and prose have been published in journals such as Ruminate, Vallum Contemporary Poetry, Poetry South, Eastern Iowa Review, and Rat’s Ass Review. In 2017, she attended the Summer Literary Seminars in Tbilisi, Republic of Georgia. Her poems have been shortlisted and have won awards in several contests in both the U.S. and Canada. Recently she lost both her mother-in-law and her father to Alzheimer’s.
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