Benjamin Morris, Mississippi
In the end, it ended
without a fight—
no radio
squelching the news, no TV debate
or learned expert explaining
the fact until years later,
when the frost, too, failed to come.
That spring an army of daffodils
besieged the courthouse, and the cats
slept outside in abandon.
At some point,
no one remembers now,
they understood,
and schoolchildren began to ask
who sent it? and why did no one save some?
The old-timers in town,
clustered like horses
round the watering hole,
shook their heads
and reminisced about the last time
they had seen snow
crowning the hills:
thick plumes so clean and cold
they stilled the wind, snow
that, when drizzled over mint
and a little whiskey, held to the light,
would glint there, and glisten,
and melt into the night.
Copyright © 2013 Benjamin Alan Morris
