Half made sandwiches 
on the counter

-17 degrees

One car won’t start
the hood frozen shut

To remove the boys’ car seats
I become a contortionist

Fingers throbbing with cold
Cursing 
more contorting
I stuff the seats into the car that runs

I escape back inside

stoke the wood stove
finish the sandwiches

Lunchboxes 
diaper bag
coffee mug
overdue books
precariously cradled

As I hustle the boys out the door