Cozy

Tonight we bolt the door, draw trout-
print curtains to shut away the fraught
world.  Escaped.  This remote river cabin—

ours for forty-eight hours.  Slipping
from rumpled featherbed and sheets, we
admire the coved ceiling, the wide pine

planks that glow overhead, thick enough
to keep out driving rain or freeze.  Safe. 
The cut-stone fireplace ablaze, we curl

close on the plump couch.  Sweetness drifts
from chipped green mugs. . . . Tonight, nothing
can disturb us.  Not storm, not phone, not

even Cancer, who squats on the stoop,
flipping his gold coin in lazy arcs.
The clock ticks to Monday, when he knows

we’ll have to crack the only door, fire
up the truck.  He will ride between us.
Cozy, he’ll think.  His silent good humor

chilling our blood as he hums and nods
pleasantly—first to you, then to me,
one hand lightly resting on each near thigh. 

Page 4

Copyright 2007, Judith Montgomery.
 All Rights Reserved by Author.