Child in My Window

In the morning, I sit at my kitchen table,
Writing.
My window peers into the kitchen across the alley.
Inside the refrigerator door,
A child stands,
Looking.
Snuggled in the refrigerator's embrace,
Her blond hair catching the morning sun.
The image makes me think of home.
I imagine my own childhood
And wish that both my parents had been there.
The kitchen across the alley is quiet,
It feels safe.
The child stands,
Looking,
Letting the refrigerator's offerings fill her eyes
While the warmth and security of the kitchen
Surround her,
Even as the cold air escapes into a summer's morning.