MY DAUGHTERS AND I TREK THOUGH HEAVY SNOW
TO VISIT ANITA WRONSKI IN BERLIN
We weren’t invited
but after the distance we’d trekked
through snow the like of which
they’d never dreamed
she could hardly turn us back.
And so we stepped into
the welcoming glow, all
stamping feet, rubbing hands
and catching breath
after a mere half hour
in the ice-bound city,
and Anita greeting us
like her longest lost cousins,
grasping us to the stove-like warmth
of her breast and serving us
runny scrambled eggs
and schinken, with heavy slabs
of thick black German bread.
And the girls come back to life,
sensation returns to fingers, toes,
eyes shine, while I sip hot, black coffee
and outside the pavements
grow heavier and heavier with snow.
First published on London Grip
Abegail Morley 
Wow! What a delicious poem in every respect. I love the way the cafe closes around them, draws them into the “stove-like warmth of her breast”. The layout is great too – the way it brings us in from outside and leaves us outside Brilliant.
Love the warmth and the details of this welcoming poem. Thank you!