unwinding

she unwinds from the day
the moment she walks
in the door.

shoes are kicked off and
lain on the rack;
keys, deposited in a bowl by the
door and bags dropped
under the table.

the stiff blazer is dropped
over the back of a chair
as she walks in sock-feet to
the lounge.

swaps suits for worn-out
cotton
and tugs a blanket off the
back of the couch.

the blanket is one she made
special,
yards of soft wool woven into
knitting and enough to drape
over her twice.

after a while,
she folds it back on the couch,
brews tea and
reads.

in the silence,
the noise of the day softens,
melts around the edges and
becomes warmth.