Cost of Living

The envelope sat on the counter for days

until I finally ripped it, a jagged, white tear.

I’ve been leaving the heat on in small, stupid ways

to keep the ferns green in the stale, winter air.

Now I’m looking at numbers I can’t really pay.

The furnace kicks on with a metallic bang

that shakes the whole house in a terrifying way.

I remember the song that my grandmother sang

about pennies and jars and the cold in the bones.

I turn on the stove just to feel something warm,

watching the blue flame as it flickers and moans.

I’m bracing myself for a different storm.

It’s just tea. I’m just boiling a pot on the range,

but the steam on the window is thick as a wall.

I’m trading my life for a handful of change

and I’m not even sure that I’m living at all.