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Tammy Ho
My Summer is Your Winter

You and your siblings walk
in the South Island snows.
Your familiar red sleeves, worn a little,
stand out among their grey jumpers.
I imagine your half-undone shoelace.
I imagine your breath as a foggy speech bubble.
I imagine your smile.
To tell you the truth:
I hate them all.

Here, the air couldn't be stuffier.
The trees in Sheung Shui do not provide shade
from the summer sun.
Any second, they could catch fire.
Any second, they will strip off their bark.



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