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Poetry Library Southbank Centre - The Poetry Library housing the Arts Council Collection at Southbank Centre

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Graham Mort

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Frost

Last night, a thin blade of moon,
Stars pricking the blackness
Of time between each other.
This morning, frost-crystalised grass,
A bronze swarf of leaves
Turning and dropping from the trees,
A big sun splintering light,
Shattering a still world of glass.

One magpie flies over the bus stop
Where our three sons stand,
Stamping like small ponies,
Panting dragon-statues
Of twisting breath.
A car exhaust smokes like battle
Through which they smile
And call out to me,
Clinking towards them
From the Post Office,
My pockets full of change,
My hands warming the nickel moons.

This morning you went without a word:
I watched from the window,
Wanting this dumbness,
Wanting to call you back.
You drove off through falling
Yellow poplar leaves
Into cold air, sun, time,
Into the distance between us:
Frost on the roof of the car,
Frost on our tongues,
A dawning sun molten above trees.

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