My two sisters, clung close to the fire
place popping with piping willow wood,
prop themselves on pionted elbows
under a quilted blanket of blue,
green and red checkered bears I used
to sleep with with when I was a child
and we lived in Brookly, Bay Ridge,
and our house pinged and steamed
with steel-gas heaters, where we'd warm
cold cotton socks and jeans before slipping
them on pin-needled legs in the mornings...
they flip through pages of magazines,
whispering, scissors snipping
coupons into a white and black pile
of barcodes, like snowflakes, like
sugar plums I used to wonder about
before I could dream about, four days
out, the 21st of December, a Sunday,
the first day of winter
'round the willow wood fire,
huddled under a blanket of blue
in my mother's living room.
Author notes
a freewrite of what was in front of me and a few associated memories.
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