I opened the bill like it would bite

I opened the bill like it would bite,

and the red number made me pause—

all those weeks I kept it tight,

all the warmth I couldn't cause.

It's cheaper to layer, to wear,

to pull the blanket high,

to breathe into your hands and share

your body's own small supply.

And it works, mostly, that's clear,

except for the parts that stay cold,

the small of your back where the fear

lives in the places you hold.

Forty-seven dollars for weeks of freeze,

for the thermostat kept low,

for the comfort I tried to appease

by keeping myself compact and slow.

The bill proves I chose to be small,

kept myself compact and tight,

and now looking back at it all,

I don't know if that was right.