Tenant

The thermostat is a liar, stuck at sixty

while the floorboards pull the heat

straight out of my socks. I went down

into the dark for the old heater,

the one with the rusted wire mesh.

I didn't see the work until it was

plastered across my face, a dry,

sticky hairnet catching in my lashes.

It’s a dusty architecture, built

without a permit while I slept.

I stood there in the grit,

feeling the silk drag against my lid,

a small, gray anchor. I’m the one

with the deed in the kitchen drawer,

but down here, I’m just a clumsy

shape breaking the furniture.