I never knew
how much I hated the cold
until it crept through
the blanketed depths of our bed
where I lay sleepless.
My breath dusted the air,
evaporating by the wide glow of the moon
which whitened the floorboards of our room.
Did I ever tell you how I felt
about shredding my Christmas tea towels
to fill gaps around the windows?
Those mistletoe prints that stopped drafts
from chafing our children’s faces
while they slept by the wood-stove?
I don’t think so.
So many times I woke up
already tired of morning.
Bound in thermal socks and long-johns
I slide-stepped down the stairs
to divine heat from a few pieces of wet cedar.
How I dreaded treks into the kitchen to pour coffee,
spilling creamer off the edge of the spoon
in my shivered hurry.
But the real measure of my hate had to be
how close I came to leaving you.
How easily those heated words slipped through
my chattering teeth and into the cold between us.
I consider myself fortunate to live in the Ozark Mountains of Southwest Missouri with a husband and four boys. We are a busy homeschooling family and I am active in the local Methodist Church. In my spare time I speed walk, play guitar, garden and am presently revising my first effort at a book. Four dogs and six cats very graciously share their home with us.