Maybe It's Just Me

I can't seem to remember the last time it was warm.
The last time I could go out side without fear of frostbite

or rushing into buildings, living life between bursts of cold
that enter every joint, every moving part and expand and

explode, each knee, each knuckle, each wrist
burning at me to take cover, to hide, to just roll over
and hibernate.

My only clear memories right now involve coats,
it seems I only ever knew this.

Pleasent November and December days long gone. Snow
cover hovers over everything both present and past.

Short gasps, short of breath. Only the cold, dry
air cracks and shrivels my throat. I don't know

why someone would colonize Nebraska.