Past the high-staked
fence.

Deep into the
cemetery.

I walk.

Twisted frozen arms
dangle below the tree,

Gently scraping,

As winter winds blow,
and their icy leaves
brush against the cold
slabs.

Numb and tired,
I stop to rest
against the hard
surface,

And feel the warming sensation
creep throughout my body

As the heat rushes
from the
tombstone.

 

-Kim Elizabeth