Hoarfrost
Emily Kerlin
Nothing was spared.
It came for the hickories, too--
encased in ice, their leaves
and branches clinking
and crashing together
like champagne flutes
in the hands of drunks.
Left and right, dazzles
of fallen limbs, trunks split
apart in tragic poses.
Even the big bluestem lay down
under the weight of its glass
ornament.
As we walked, our feet crushed
the twisted cane-shapes,
like the leavings of a glassblower.
Twenty minutes in, my father pitched
suddenly forward. I caught his arm,
righted him, held his tremble still.
We haven’t said it yet but we both know
his father’s genes have come for him.
About the Author
Emily F. Kerlin is a poet based in Urbana, IL where she has the great privilege of working with immigrant children and families from all over the world. She has published poems in journals such as Cider Press Review, Sheila-Na-Gig, The MacGuffin and Blue Mountain Review. Her book Twenty-One Farewells won Minerva Rising’s 2023 chapbook contest and her second chap The Sword Swallowers was published by Porkbelly Press in 2025. Find her at emilykerlin.com.