Heat Vents

 Heat Vents

Once I turn up the thermostat, I sit abed,

clouds rising reassuringly from the three

heat vents beneath my window.

I’m luxuriating. Winter’s on its way out.

Yesterday’s big melt revealed dull grass

in flattened mud. We need sunny days

to get that grass to stand up and to melt

the filthy, crusty, leftover snow piles lining

our curbs, atop them oddly tilted parked cars.

In March, what does it matter that we

lounge in bed reading historical fiction?

We know April will require our action—

when spring comes, revolutions begin—

the people meet in the street to bring heat

to hardened, systemic corruption. Count on it.

I promise to get up, to join in.

                                                —Sef, 3/18/2025