Storm Windows

Chill became frost, green screens
that had let summer into the house–
its daytime breezes, its night time zephyrs–
became no hindrance to impending icy climate.
 
Dad brought down from the attic
tall hefty windows he had to balance,
bending through every bedroom pane
with each heavy load,
hooking them onto the outside
above each empty opening.
 
For the first floor he could use a ladder
on the lawn; for  front porch and living
room, he could simply hook them on.
But not up here on the second floor,
where everyone slept cozier
for his precarious work.
 
Yet whatever of love he mixed with burden
I never knew as he heaved such weight
above three stories of wood and plaster and paint
where he had begotten three girls
who kept out of the way of his terse remarks,
harsh admonishings.
 
Dad. We have since moved so very far
from the circle of snowdrifts around the home
I never wanted to leave,
not knowing then, and you not knowing,
how thoroughly you were blocking out
so much more than the stark, stoic ravages
of bitter cold.