The Warmth of Words

(or, The Day I Helped My Husband Blow Cellulose Insulation Into the Attic)

I put words into a machine to keep our house warm.

They were covered in salt to keep from being flammable—
I guess that’s something we all do.

Torn and homeless, they were huddled together
so I tucked them into the spaces under our roof

fistfuls of them, so many words flying at my ears
I hoped not to become blind.

I wanted to help my husband keep the heat in our home
That he worked so hard to provide.

What a modern marvel that you
don’t have to burn a tree to heat your house. 
Wrap it in paper
then stuff confetti in your attic 
then breathe heavy until the warmth builds. 

The wolf moon howled at my neck to hurry.
The debris looked like a cotton harvest on the side of the road
as it blew out of my hands and down the mountain.

When I was done my hands were immune to fire
but even so, they burned 
and my shoes were covered in snow.

Svetlana Litvinchuk is a permaculture consultant and artist who holds BAs from the University of New Mexico. Her debut chapbook, Only a Season (Bottlecap Features, 2024) is now available, and her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Black Coffee Review, Eunoia Review, and Longhouse Press. She is a reader for ONLY POEMS. Originally from Kyiv, Ukraine, she now lives with her husband and daughter on their organic farm in the Arkansas Ozarks.