by Amee Nassrene Broumand

 

Snow doesn’t look like the idea of snow, not during a snowstorm. During a snowstorm the sky becomes a void churning with insensate bees, bees that sting & bite. Snowstorms are neither pretty pictures nor charming holiday romps—snowstorms are winter.

Winter unvarnished by the domesticating tendencies of sheltered human eyes.

 

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Amee Nassrene Broumand is a self-taught Iranian-American poet. She was nominated for a Pushcart by Sundog Lit & also has poems in Word Riot, A-Minor MagazineRivetWindfall, & elsewhere. An avid photographer, she currently she lives in Portland, Oregon & blogs for Burning House Press. Find her on Twitter @AmeeBroumand.

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