Living Room

When we get back from school the ice
on the snow is just thin enough
my boots break it on every step.
But it’s Friday.

My sister’s with Dad
at a book fair in Haverhill.
The roads froze
so they’ll be back tomorrow.
My brother got off the bus
at Mike Chinooga’s house.

Mom’s in the living room,
in front of a fire. It’s hard to believe
the fireplace can do it,
but in a few minutes
my socks are hot.

She goes into the kitchen.
A log pops. The wood wrinkles
like laughter–and Mom comes back
with two hot bowls of chowder,
corn muffins, rosemary chicken.

She works on papers behind me
under a small lamp. The streetlight
turns us orange.
Mom says I can stay up
as long as she’s up.
She started snoring
ten minutes ago.

I heave a log, tug
on the screen, and the wood
starts laughing again
when I close my eyes.

Added: March 17, 2013 | Last changed: June 7, 2014