by Holly Day

is getting smaller and I
like it that way. the walls are
closing in and I feel

safe. the winter drags
on and we huddle
in. first two beds, now
one, children in the middle
arms and legs everywhere

clutching blindly for warmth.
outside, snow piles up, makes
walls to keep us in. birds
drop from the sky, dead,

crash into the house as if
to warn us of
what becomes
of those who step out the door.

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