In From the Cold
Jan 17 2009


The ski club
is like an old family cottage,
with scraps of mismatched carpet
lumpy over-stuffed chairs
and donated sofas.
On weekends, little kids take over,
kneeling-down with toy soldiers
piling pillows into forts,
conducting brief sibling wars
and the small insurgencies
of childhood.

The girl in pink is at the toy-box —
selecting, rejecting,
bossing-over
her sequestered little corner.
I envy her intense concentration,
oblivious to skiers, tracking-in snow
and all the flushed excited kids.
She oversees her own private world,
a mercurial princess
learning to be Queen.

Me, I live alone;
so when I put something down
it will be there tomorrow.
Apparently, a rare luxury —
lots of grown-up stuff
collecting dust.
So the scattered toys are trip-wires
stumbling underfoot
— sharp-edged Lego
camouflaged trucks.

A young mom, slightly hoarse
admonishes her non-stop boy.
She flashes a frazzled smile,
and I smile in return.
Coming in from the cold
to such unexpected warmth.