Frozen stiff,
except for our eyes,
we peer from our hoods
like owls in the night.
As our mittens stiffen,
mouths frozen shut,
snow falls to cover our feet,
too heavy to move.
We stand like statues of cold stone.
Snow-covered branches fall to the earth.
Our fingers turn blue
as we try to clutch anything.
We open our eyes, now dry.
Hoping for summer,
our hair turns brittle.
The whipping wind beats our cheeks
like branches of icy steel.
Our teeth bear this wasteland,
this colorless, barren hell.
Feeling the pain,
our toenails crack beneath rubber boots.
We try to speak with ice forming on our tongues,
tissue on our lips tearing as we try.
The stinging of our flesh rises from our toes.
Trembling sounds of winter
and the sounds of our own breath,
snapping in mid-exhale,
screeching in our minds.
We sleep often -- it passes time.
We stand still, brooding in the pain,
in our own waste frozen to our clothes.
Our eyelashes fall to the white powder.
Our heads slightly bowed, we try to look up.
Our covered necks stiff despite our efforts,
weighted down by a blanket of death.
We still wait for salvation.
With no shelter, we wait.
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