First Heat

The cold had settled, deep and slow,

a quiet chill inside the bones.

Then from the corner, soft and low,

a rumble, then some ancient groans.

The radiator, waking up,

a dragon stirring from its sleep.

I watched the paint begin to cup

and bubble, promises to keep.

That dry dust smell, a rusty scent,

the peeling surface, off-white, old.

A metal sigh, on comfort bent,

a story in the warmth it told.

A hiss, a clank, a steady breath,

a rising heat against the wall.

Defying winter, defying death,

it answers to the season's call.