enveloped within the familiar creases,
the sweatshirt
faithful to me in
each weather forecast it
heroically resists
whose sleeves have been left frayed
and abandoned since
spring

winter brings the
old heater
down the narrow steps
from the attic
its red switch illuminated, the whirring fan exhaling
warmth throughout a reluctant room
and the shades quiver
and melt to the floor, their edges
skimming the wood surface that is
resentful and ruthless at sunrise
on my bare feet