The Way of Winter

Deep into the path I stop
at the sight of it
– a bed of snow.

Underneath, the pond is still.
My heart knows
this waiting:

the hard cold, the crystallised
longing, the fragile
ice of it.

Time a silver cloud
between us,

And the softness sweeps,
falls over me
all at once.

Зимний Путь

На тропинке я остановлюсь,
загляжусь на эту
снежную постель.

Тихо под покровом пруд лежит.
И знакомо сердцу,
как он ждет

сквозь метель и затвердевшую
тоску и сквозь хрупкий
этот лед.

Между нами время расстилается
серебристым облаком.

И вокруг да около
нежность сыпется,


she calls me
Polunochnitsa       the spirit of
the night       split
in half

in the dead of it       I sit
with the trees
their malachite crowns rise
against the blind sky
opaque and viscous with
tomorrow’s rain

I whisper to them       confess
how I really am
on the fence       a possum
stops in her tracks
a frozen glare

I smile to her
break the ice       linger
between the breaths
of days

* Polunochnitsa (pronounced ‘puh-loo-nOch’-nee-tsa’) is a Slavic demoness of the night.

Irina Frolova is a bilingual Australian writer of Russian background, philologist, psychology student and author of the poetry pocketbook Far and Wild (Flying Island Books, 2021). You can find Irina on Facebook @irinafrolovapoet.