Frost
In a deep chill of anger
you and I turn back to back
to stumble down diverging paths.
We plod through dogged days,
slipping and drifting into wintry gloom.
Huddled behind the frosted glass, I chip
at frozen rime to make a hole;
and in that dime of brighter light
I spy you on the other side,
scraping ice away, eye to eye.
Linda Knowlton Appel migrated across the country and found her home in Oregon where she is a member of Chrysalis, a critique group for emerging women writers. Life evolves, and, as she enjoys retirement, she hopes that her poetry will help her to recognize and consider the existential questions of life.
