Such a striking poem. We can all feel the chill of the ice, from our toes up to our heart. I love the choice of the word "blade" which turns something as inocuous and domestic as grass into a weapon. And it is "edged" with frost. This reminds me of the blade Laertes "edges" with poison in his plot to kill Hamlet. Slow release venom. I recall Hamlet and Laertes both perished from the same edged weapon in Shakespeare's play, but not before each made and received a genuine apology from the other.
So much is unspoken in this poem that there is a sense of incompleteness. What is the connection between the grass and "his" apology? Is the start of winter, or the last frost of the season? The uncertainty of context is I believe left there deliberately to let us share the ambivalence of the poet. She as yet has not decided whether the frost will thaw.
This poem has prompted my own response:
Mark the frosted lawn
With an ellipsis
As far as me being a member here, I wasnâ€™t aware that I was a member for any days, actually. When the article was published I received a notification, so that I could participate inside the discussion of the post, That would explain me stumbuling upon this post. But weâ€™re definitely all members in the world of suggestions.
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