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winter stew
Folder:
Dead Poets
"winter stew"
I lift
the pot
from the stove,
steam
streaming out
into the room.
Outside,
someone walks past
with their collar raised,
glancing in
as if this small heat
might matter.
I eat
a little,
standing there,
letting the warmth
settle
after a long day.
Session out.
Save this.
A moment
held between
my hands
and the street.
.
