-no school-

awakening to the dead

of winter— then

the side of the green
shade drawn to darkness—

the space-heater's drift

you can hear it clicking
you can smell it
the heat of metal— the scent
of a sweet
kerosine on fire.

when it’s dark at the early-
winter morning's hour

when school closings
are reported over the radio
and the house-lamps are lit—
different than lamplight
through the rooms of evening—
and kitchen voices are muted
and warmth from the space-

heater folds like a finishing wave
and you feel it from your bed
and you hear it and smell it—

when half-asleep is still asleep
and you know
you don’t have to do
anything
or go anywhere


                    in Fall River at 9 years