When the house wakes up the first morning after
the long winter
with its smells of must and salt air
The last of the wood gone to ash in the fireplace

My mother and I up at sunrise
Heavy sweaters pulled over our flannel nightgowns
Creaking across the chilly floorboards in our
wool socks

We bring the fire back to life
She lights the gas stove, puts the kettle on
to make tea and hot cocoa
in the ancient kitchen in the cottage

The mice have held their territory in the night
taking the cheese without springing the trap
he so carefully set out the night before

Oh he'll be mad when he sees this
We double over with laughter, tears streaming
down our face
We hold our sides to stay quiet

We don't want to wake them yet
It's our time, Let them sleep
beneath their warm covers in the three bedrooms
beyond

I want to savor these quiet moments with her
together at the kitchen table
Suspended in the generations of this house,
my mother and I