Below 32 Degrees

The quiet between us

like floating icebergs

tongues frostbit into stillness

is it that we have forgotten what to say

misplaced our formula to speak,

a habitual slow retreat to safety?

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

I am uncertain how to start the

defrost cycle.

© Ali Grimshaw

 

 

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6 thoughts on “Below 32 Degrees

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