Cold Front

Jun 5

Written By Devon Neal

Last night, while we slept, a cold front came in

like a quiet tide, slicking across the rain-darkened road,

glassing the sidewalks, weaving jewelry

across the porch rails. The trees locked their joints,

the lawn scoured with ice. Windows grew crystal moss,

and the neighbor’s wood fence spit splinter secrets

in the frigid wind. It’s not a morning for shower skin,

for bare feet and earlobes. There are so many

unexpected ways language can change, like when

cold wind crawls in from the north overnight,

and in a scar-dewed morning, I still catch myself

talking about staying in for the day,

saying “we should” instead of “we used to.”

Devon Neal (he/him) is a Kentucky-based poet whose work has appeared in many publications, including HAD, Stanchion, Livina Press, The Storms, and The Bombay Lit Mag, and has been nominated for Best of the Net. He lives in Bardstown, KY, with his wife and three children.

Devon Neal

Devon Neal (he/him) is a Kentucky-based poet whose work has appeared in many publications, including HAD, Stanchion, Livina Press, The Storms, and The Bombay Lit Mag, and has been nominated for Best of the Net. He lives in Bardstown, KY, with his wife and three children.

Cold Front

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Species