Standing at the kitchen table
Breaking broccoli into fegs
There’s a child clinging to me
And I think
This could be my life.
There’s the background sound of a child saying mommy
And she’s not calling to me
but she could be.
I snap a broccoli stalk
And think of letting a little girl’s dreams flutter away
Of being what was expected of me
A pretty wife
with a husband she grew to love
Trading recipes and not research
Good women
don’t have careers.
I could be happy, maybe.
Snap
another piece of broccoli in the ***
and four children
maybe five
My mother smiling at me
saying I knew you’d be okay in the end.
I don’t know.
It might not be what I want
But it’s something I know I’ll miss never having.
Snap
Last piece in the ***
And I leave it on the stove to simmer.