Retrieval

by Skye Shirley

When the neighborhood women
meet for their Wednesday book group
I stand at their sinks and guard
their children sleeping.

As infants they clenched
my smallest fingers and only
ate soft food. Now they read
mysteries by lamplight as I

rinse plates downstairs.
Across the street, my
driveway is plowed.
Snow scatters as I gather

their Lego pieces. I know this
flurry well, and love the tasks,
rituals. I give vitamins, brush teeth,
unfold pajamas, light the dark.

And downstairs load
the dishwasher and sit
on the old loveseat.
The skylight is blanketed

with snow: don’t you
marvel at this bliss?
Even the cold yearns
to touch me.


Skye Shirley checks this forecast before the weather forecast.