Illinois Frost

Much more humbling than
This, it would send
Grown men

Scurrying for mittens,
And farm life into the
Eaves;

My coffee steam climbed to
Cover my cough
(An old war wound, and

Why we moved), even as
We draped towels about the
Tomatoes.

From the nursery,
Blankets kicked up and more
Warm milk was demanded

While the window panes
Held on and kept track of
Days until June:

You’ll recall it, later,
Although for now, it’s from a
Place left behind.

It will fill your
Pockets, an odd and comfortable
Love.