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h z
Poems
Dec 2024
Groceries With Mom
A cold like no other,
in the freezer aisle.
My hands are shaking.
Looking at ice cream we won't get,
retracing fading smiley faces
fogged on frosty glass,
in the freezer aisle.
My body is blue.
Cold to the bone,
Mom puts me back in the cart.
Written by
h z
23/F
(23/F)
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TheTimesTheyAreAChangin
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