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101

Weatherproof

Dawit Bekele

Free verse · Solitude · Work

My hands have stopped feeling the cold,which the foreman calls an asset.Thirty winters outside will do that —teach the body to go quiet where it hurts.

I worry what else I've gone numb toon the long shift of just getting by.I warm my hands on the coffee anyway,out of a memory of warmth, not the fact of it.

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Up next · no reading yetWhat I PackedNot the photographs — those I had memorized.