The Thermal Jump

The pilot light must have quit around midnight.

I swing my legs over the side of the mattress,

my skin still heavy with the salt of sleep,

and meet the blue linoleum.

It’s a slap from a flat palm.

My toes curl up like scorched paper,

trying to retreat into the arch of the foot,

anything to stay off the surface.

The house is a hollow bell,

ringing with the fact that nobody else is awake

to hear me hiss at the temperature.

I stand there, balanced on the outer blades of my feet,

waiting for the blood to catch up.