FETAL POSITION
Alli Tschirhart

This house holds no heat
Chill clings to everything:
the plywood floors, the furniture—me

The small metal heaters do nothing
only burning our fingertips as we press
against them, the water pop-popping inside

The naked mattress stays cool
I shiver beneath my flimsy throw,
my feet have turned to stone

So many children in the house
that when it comes to bedding,
the oldest gets overlooked.

Sleeping is easiest with
my knees knocking against my chin,
arms hugging them close

Morning comes,
bones creak and muscles ache
It’s better than being cold.