Iron Test

Morning light cuts across the floor. Ahead, a white wall of cold iron ribs. Tall. Solid. Bolted straight into the baseboard. I march up to it. No detour. I plant both bare feet flat on the oak boards, set my palms against the bottom metal fin, and shove. Metal groans. The pipes give off a sharp clink deep inside. It does not tip. It does not break. Heavy enough to respect. I strike the radiator column once with my knuckles—hollow ring, cold vibration ringing into my wrists. A worthy block.