my name is
jean briggs
it's 1964 and language leaves me  
cold and quiet
it's punishment
for trying to stand on your side  
eat snowflakes
fall down
on thousands of layers old
see sometimes i'm seasons
yet the closest place from hearth to home  
i can't imagine the sun never setting
lives in the snow  
maybe i'll leave here  
been through a bad year  
too cold to die here