First Floor

The blanket thrown back, a sudden loss

of heat. The air, it held its breath.

Then the floorboards, cold and sharp as moss

in winter, a small, daily death.

My toes recoiled, a primal flinch,

a jolt that woke the skin.

That first cold shock, a silent pinch,

where the reluctant day begins.

It makes me catch my breath, a sting

that travels up the bone.

This small, recurring, chilling thing,

I face it every day alone.

No soft escape, no gentle rise,

just the floor, unforgiving, hard.

Opening my unready eyes,

playing a familiar, painful card.