Cozie Toesies

toes knew when to visit,
not long after the storm but
before the hot coffee
could be poured, the nightly
paper stashed inside
by the couch
after its
thump would hit the porch door,
hard,
then, then, the toes
would linger on the vent,
absorbing
warm, coal-heat
forced up from below,
its coke-smell fitting
nicely with the mint of cocoa
for the kids, mom's coffee
still bubbling in its
canister on the gas stove,
and father slamming the door
to the Willys just
before stomping into
the entryway, taking
off his gloves
touched by frost,
throwing them
down upon the carpet,
flinging frost
across the tiles.