Mud Creek
The tip of my nose is cold
I always sleep in a t-shirt with my arms bare
Because I like to curl up beneath my blankets
And create my own warmth
I wish I was doing that right now
Instead of selling overpriced Christmas trees
In an unheated greenhouse
The sky is white and the roof is white,
Dusted with a fine layer of snow
I know the temperature will rise to 63° on Saturday
And it will rain
And the water will run into the creek
Which will turn brown with mud
Strong and swift
Until it freezes over, and sleeps again
Copyright © Phoebe Eckler | Year Posted 2022
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