The Knock

They learned the value
of silence, preserving their words
for their own ears.

A mother. Her girl.
Standing in a quiet that
possesses the room, except  

for the snap of flames
that live in the logs. A branch
that settles, and sparks, and  

shifts in the iron grate.
Firelight deepens the inexact
shadows as sleep teases

a ginger cat. Its tail
replies to tiny bombs of sap.
And then, the moment is

stolen by a hard knock
on the door. Once, and again
... and again.

The cat gathers itself
closer to the woman and girl.
Even a cat knows that
there's safety in numbers.