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.