Childhood Winters
Kingman, Arizona
On cold mornings
our mother backed herself up
to the large furnace that loomed
in the living room, that creaked
and groaned while it warmed up.
She was wrapped in her robe,
arms folded across her chest,
shoulders hunched, chin down,
shivering and appearing to be in pain.
My brothers and I crowded
around her until she told us
to get dressed for school.
When she felt warm enough
and had rubbed her behind,
she got her coffee, fixed our oatmeal,
made sure we dressed warm,
then sent us out to the bus stop.
When we passed the living room window,
we saw her through gauzy curtains,
clutching her coffee, sipping slowly,
standing with our youngest brother
in front of the heater, determined
to get some heat in her, like she
had nothing else to do for the day
while we shivered in the chilling wind,
hoping the bus would pick us up early.
From: Small Places, Big Places, Everywhere
Unpub. MS p. 53
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