Late Frost

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An uncle set up milk crates
and tobacco sticks, ran long
wires between post and barn

while three aunts draped
painter’s cloths, opened
bedsheets and fabric coverings,

shrouded over sprouted greens
and new shoots from a condition
warned but yet to transpire.

In the failing light breath rose
among their ghost garden,
the three sisters unspooling

muslin across the shorter
peach trees as defense against
the final fears of spring.

Micah Daniel McCrotty lives in Knoxville Tennessee with his wife Katherine. His poetry has previously appeared in Louisiana Literature, Storm Cellar, Sycamore Review, and the James Dickey Review among others.

NOVUS Literary and
Arts Journal
Lebanon, TN