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Winter Keeps Us Close
Click of the furnace coming on late fall you never forget that, how the first dusty blast sends up reminders of what we have lost this year: pennies and rubberbands, crayons some child stuffed into the vent to hear them fall, a metal hairpin grandma wore. We have been good citizens this year, putting up the storms before the first frost, taping summer's leaks and cracks. We're insulated, airtight now like a train, the frozen landscape sliding silently past sleepers. Beginning today, there will be no open windows. In the basement the furnace shudders. I wonder about the gas, imagine that sweet breath crawling through the sleeping house. The bathroom floor bites a bare foot. I wait for water to warm the white porcelain.