Sodium

The radiator is having another fit,

a wet thumping that travels

all the way up the floorboards.

It’s twelve-fourteen. The kitchen

is so cold I can see my breath

hanging over the stove.

The lid peeled back with a sharp

metallic groan. There was a ring

of yellow fat settled at the top,

a smooth, cold seal I had to break.

Now the steam is coming up,

thick and smelling of salt and tin,

coating my glasses until the world

is just a white, warm smear.