Amanda Frost is an assistant editor at the University of Texas Press. She received her PhD in English from the University of Kansas and her MFA from the University of Texas at Austin, where she was a Michener fellow. She was nonfiction editor of Beecher’s Magazine and associate editor of Bat City Review.
Triolets
The shadow cannot be without the body, your darkness blossoming beneath your light. This brick earth snarled within the shadowy, the shadow cannot be without the body. Across the bluing field, a single sentry, it opens far away and into night. The shadow cannot be without the body, your darkness blossoming beneath your light. This brick earth snarled within the shadowy, like the watery circles of the willow. Like your image in the reddening ivy, this brick earth snarled within the shadowy. There is you, and then there is the hazy, the walked-on and intangible also. This brick earth snarled within the shadowy, like the watery circles of the willow. Like your image in the reddening ivy, yours clings to me as deep as ivy’s bite. The shadow cannot be without the body, like your image in the reddening ivy. This brick earth snarled within the shadowy wavers on the running edge of twilight. Like your image reddening in the ivy, yours clings to me as deep as ivy’s bite.