Sometimes, when her mind is crystal clear,
like the first lung-piercing breath
of fresh air on a late winter’s morning,
the streets blanketed in snow,
dawn breaking cold and grey,
her skin frozen to the touch,
and nostril hairs stiff as tiny pokers,
she realizes she should probably
move someplace warmer.

Winter Tree, © 2012 by Gina Marie Lazar Lovrencevic. All rights reserved.

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