That Scarf Upon Her Head

I used to laugh at my mother
along with my younger brother
as she would ready herself for bed
a bathrobe, socks and a scarf upon her head
my father slept there on her right side
the window in coldest night open way open gaping wide
I used to laugh at my mother
Along with my little brother
at the way she could never get warm enough
as my father under lightest cover told us he lied there in the buff
I'm not laughing so much now-a-days as tortilla wrapped I lay
my body layered, my feet encased, as warm I try to stay
chagrined, stymied, filled with regret at mocking my mother pointed rude
as now, the man I married long ago, sleeps lightly covered, warm and nude