The poverty line

Only those who have been poor
know how extravagant
and treacherous it feels
to buy fresh figs in January
or to leave the door open
and the heat on at the same time,
not for the impact on the environment,
which you know is wrong
so you don’t do it often,
but for the voice
that never quite goes away,
the one that reminds you
that you lived close
to the poverty line for so long,
and that figs and heat
are on the other side of the line,
a place where people don’t count
their berries or their crackers,
don’t hear the worried whisper
about how to be careful,
always careful,
so sometimes
you devour
all the figs
at once
with door
flung open,
a way of shouting
that no one but you can hear
that you are not afraid,
do you hear me,
not afraid
anymore
of that line.