The runoff at the creek held tiny toads,
we crossed the bridge
to see ducklings. We are not swan eaters,
and memorial day has passed.
Who carved the stone steps into the gorge?
My knees shook when I began the trail
and I thought everyone noticed.
I tried not to look down,
but all the wonder was pooled at the bottom—
no that’s not it at all.
The weather broke at last
and the heat moved to a new glen,
breeze in the tree limbs,
breeze through the porch screen,
I sit on the porch when I can’t sleep—
a nocturne for another day.
The pines have an ailment that has no cure.
The pines are shaped like old men.
You’d be surprised what shows up
when you forgo weed killer. Cardinal, crow,
yellow warblers—the robins wake me
on the sunporch. They are the first to sing.
Everywhere I look it is green, green, green.
Suzanne Frischkorn‘s most recent poetry collection is Whipsaw (Anhinga Press, 2024), winner of the 2025 CNY Book Award for Poetry, and finalist for the Eugene Paul Nassar Poetry Prize. Her honors include a 2026 Ragdale Residency Award, and fellowships from the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, The Writer’s Center, and the Connecticut Commission on the Arts. Her poems have recently appeared, or are forthcoming in The Cincinnati Review, Denver Quarterly, North American Review, SWING, and Latino Poetry: The Library of America Anthology. She serves as an editor for $-Poetry Is Currency, and an assistant poetry editor for Terrain.org.