Breakfast In Winter

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 Breakfast In Winter

I can still see my mother squatting down by the fireplace ,

Putting some sticks over scrunched up newspaper .



She struck a match and lit the paper as smoke arose.

From the kindle a welcome warmth for us to share.



She would ask me to bring in some coal.

Then I’d go into the back yard where it was twelve below .

I remember her at the stove stirring the porridge to the boil ,

Outside winter birds left tracks in the snow.



Noticing the water pipes frozen I’d ask.

Am I going to school today ? ”.

My Mother would give me a smile.

Flames leapt from the coals .

The porridge was hot in the bowls.

”Yes son, she would say. “Winter is here for a while.”



By Paul McCann

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