Winter Storm Stories
Under an old quilted blanket, starbursts of autumn colors,
We sat, listening to unembellished stories of the past
In the light of mismatched candles placed on flat surfaces,
Throwing occasional shadows to dance on the walls
With a cadence that matched the tempo of her voice
And swept us away to a time when water was fetched.
It was winter both inside and outside of the apartment,
But the icy breathe of the North Wind beating on the door
Could not roar loud enough to drown out the warmth,
Which radiated from the tales being told by the woman
Who had experienced colder and harsher times than then,
When bread, butter, and milk were worth more than silk.
“Everything will be okay,” we were assured time and time again,
As if it were a segue between stories about schoolhouses and war
Or a whispered battle cry against the frightening storm.
Everything will be okay, warm, under the blanket of stories that night.