The stove was cold
by Eli Baird
· 24/02/2026
Published 24/02/2026 16:21
The stove was cold,
a story told
in ash and grit,
where fire once sat.
My hands went in,
a charcoal sin,
black dust arose,
stuck to my nose.
Under the nail,
a dark, small trail.
What's left behind
when warmth's resigned?
Just this fine stuff,
never quite enough
to fill the space,
a ghost in this place.