Morning Heat

The red number on the counter

waits next to an empty mug.

My hand hovers over the thermostat dial

at six in the morning—cold, blank, unfinished.

One degree costs seventeen dollars.

Seventeen dollars is almost a meal,

almost a different kind of morning,

almost the life I'm learning not to feel.

I pull my hand back.

The kitchen stays cold.

The bill stays red.