The Cold Poem by Edwina Reizer

I stare at the fireplace in my room
and welcome the sight of it.
It’s the beginning of November
and soon it will be lit.
And as it crackles its warmth
and warms my hands and my feet
I wonder if this fireplace will be
my only source of heat?

I’m not in love with the cold.
Still, I know it will come my way.
And since my house is all electric
that power source might go away.
It’s then I think back on long ago
and understand what a fireplace meant
to those whose lives depended on it.
And then I am content.