Poetess at Twenty-four

Here,
In the darkness of an old front porch,
With the smell of wood and leaves,
And the coming spring,
With the soft amber glow of a kitchen window
Shining safety out
Into the wilderness
Behind me--
And I think about you,
Momma,
As the wind rises
Sending a silver chill down my spine
And I pull your afghan around me tight
Like the memory of your arms
Or a cradle-
Where everything was simple-
Before home vanished
And the wilderness
Took over.

-Me

P.S. Yeah, second post of the night, but I really like this. I think there may be an edit or two left to do, but I think this one has some real potential. Like, Norton's fifty-third edition potential.