Questions I Could Never Ask My Hostess

Read Write Poem's NaPoWriMo #9 Your Mission

Questions I Could Never Ask My Hostess

I prop the electric torch against the pail
where I will stow the paper
when I'm done.
(I hope the batteries will survive
nightly trips to this necessary)
The outhouse is one of a million small inconveniences
on the fringe of a village in the middle of Siberia.

What must it be like in the winter-
when the bruising wind grabs the door out of your hands
and with all your might you lever it closed
before the snow flies onto the rug?
when the drifts on the path make you limp to the loo?
when the sun shines so little and the chimney puffs so much?

Lost in thought, I stumble, startling myself and the chickens.
Exhausted by your way of life, I dream of home's conveniences.