Drafty

The furnace gave up at dawn,

leaving the air thin and metallic.

I found the wool thing in the closet,

the one she kept in the Buick for flats

or picnics that ended in rain.

It smells like a cedar chest and a basement floor,

a heavy, itchy weight that doesn't quite

make me warm, just makes me remember

the way she’d tuck the corners under

until I couldn't move my feet.