Today's poem is by Madelyn Chen

Never Asking
       

Winter nights we wore socks to bed and still
shuddered like thin panes against the wind.
We rubbed our hands together. We pulled
the blanket past our noses. Over our pajamas
were hand knit sweaters, cheaper than turning
on the radiator. Our mother made us drink
water from plastic bottles bought in packs of
twenty four. She collected the empty ones from
our hands, underneath our beds, corner piles
and all through the trashcan. Ripping and
scraping away the sticky labels, she filled
each bottle with sink water. Each cap was
firmly twisted back on, and into the microwave
went three bottles a time. Six minutes later,
her tender hands would pull the bottles out,
plastic steaming redness into her palms.
In bed, she tucked the bottles under our feet.
This is how we fell asleep, never
asking if our mother needed warmth.

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Copyright © 2023 Madelyn Chen All rights reserved
from Rattle
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission