heated raze her son's spending the week in a place winter never touches. the heat meets you when you step outside, she says. i think about waiting for my hands to thaw at the urging of a small ceramic heater. wearing a shirt under another shirt under a hoodie under a coat to steer my trunk from turning to ice. balancing hand warmers between glove liners and mittens that make me look like the tallest penguin on record. straining to see through fogged-up lenses. giving myself an overbite. breathing into my chin beneath the scarf that keeps my face from freezing. to cut down on the condensation. make myself a little less blind. wet socks. mornings when even the calluses on my feet are numb. a river of snot running down my reddened face. once i visited the city where summer never sleeps. i got a temporary tattoo there. now i dream of being left behind in the wet womb of a world too cold to wake me. 221201 what's it to you? who go blather from