First Thaw

Sun slaps skin, a surprise on bare arms,

frost’s stubborn grip finally lets go.

Brittle grass crackles beneath hesitant steps—

like brittle glass in a slow melt’s flow.

Snow’s ragged edges curl into mud,

dirty patches swell with softening weight.

Winter’s armor slips into damp earth,

a wet breath in a changing state.

The air tastes of wet concrete and thaw,

rough and raw against the nose.

A patch of sky that forgot the chill,

and sun that leans where the cold once froze.