Island of Three

The stomping of feet in the entry
Coat, hat, and boots removed
Hands rubbing together, Dad enters
"It's thirty below out there!"

Soup's on the stove bubbling away
Table's set - bread and leftover roast
Warms his hands over the radiator
"We need a Chinook."

At the big bay window
Mom talks to the bird
Gives him fresh seed
Waters plants, removes dead leaves

Wind beats at the window
Driving hard grains of snow
The stove is our center
Full of warmth and good smells

She scoops out the soup
With an old chipped cup
"Soup's on - come and get it..."
Our noon meal begins

There's talk of the greenhouse
The orders they've filled
Whose funeral's this weekend
What wedding's next week

After lunch there's deliveries
Do I want to ride along?
"Maybe..." for I know the layers
It takes just to walk out the door

"Go on, it'll do you good
Blow the stink off ..."
Mom's face is dead serious
Twinkling eyes give her away

I help clear the dishes
While Dad has his nap
Mom answers the phone
Writes out the orders

She pulls on her coat
Heads over to the store
Dad warms up the VW
Carries out the bouquets

Grab my mittens from the radiator
Step into my boots
Push open the storm door
Walk the shoveled path

Mom minds the business
While we make the rounds
A stop for pie and coffee
Hot cocoa for me

Darkness comes early
Lights twinkle on
As we drive down the alley
Through the drifts in the yard

"I need to lock up"
Dad says, "You go on."
I stomp my boots as he did
Hang my coat by the door

Mom's started our dinner
Kitchen's cheery and warm
I set the table and chatter
Telling all that I'd seen

The stomping of feet in the entry
"The boiler's holdin' its own"
Heating houses of glass isn't easy
When it's thirty below out there

Conversation and meals
Always went hand in hand
The household and business a blend
That I still contemplate

We three were an island
I realize now
In the midst of the cold
Montana winter