An ode to my pellet stove

Photo by the author

Once you were nothing more
than metal sheets stacked one 
upon the other, lining shelves 
in a cold and vacuous warehouse
where objects exist in dissociation
from what they are meant 
to be.

Metal welded to metal
with rivets dug from the depths
of obscurity, nothing
when one of hundreds, imperative
when one of a dozen, linchpins in the creation 
of you.

A box complete, brushed copper sides 
frame the door with tempered glass, window
to your heartbeat’s glow, demanding
not logs but wood pressed 
into pellets the size of delicate 
tiny pegs.

Real flames flicker 
from behind a laser-cut flame 
inside a laser-cut box, 
mini emblem of you 
inside you.

Like how you get inside me 
every winter, warmth flowing
from softly humming fans, 
smothering the chill 
that penetrates my bones and makes me long 
for June.

You carry me through the coldest days
and coldest nights of nature’s frigid dance. You,
my beloved pellet stove, promise 
you will always burn
for me.

© 2019 Krista Schumacher

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Originally published in Fiddleheads & Floss on November 11, 2019.