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Below Zero

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By Susan D., North Attleboro, MA

   I am cold

like the frosted gray of a winter sky,

cold like the stale cough of a freezer



I freeze

like the water-glaze on a windshield in December,

like the blue-pink toes of a snowbathing child.



I am cold like your smile, chapped and thin,

cold like your laughter, like your pale green stare.

You are an ice-sculpture, my friend;

I am cold when you touch me,

when I close my eyes and feel your fingertips

solid as chilled bone

against my downturned cheek.






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