Cold

The cold and dark no longer scare me. Here, on the empty, cobbled pavement facing the garbage processing center, I make my fire. It burns warm and orange-gold.

All my gold I gave. Now the cars and bikes and buses whizzing past witness the last spark of my life. Into the blaze I put the wood I collected from the trees lining the street, the paper that blew straight to me, and other odds and ends that nobody wanted, like nobody wanted me.

My life I gave, to family – parents, alcoholic husband,...