The stream
looped around
the yard near the fence,
and I begged her to
put a bridge in so
I could cross it.
What would you be
crossing towards? She
always questioned.
I didn’t bother to answer.
How could you talk to
someone about the infinite,
when they could only ever
see to the fence?
When was she trapped in
a marriage by the time
she was eighteen
to a man she met when
she was fourteen? When
she got an 100 on her math
regents and went to
college, but had to stay
home to be a mom of the
Baby Boomers?
When her children were
raised in a home filled with
loud voices and bruises,
and nights spent crying where
she thought they couldn’t see her.
I used to wish that I would
Grow up to be just like her,
living in a nice house with a
stream out back.
Then I started to see
the paint peeling and
the wood rotting and
the stream drying up.
I used to wish I could be her
But she used to wish
she could be past the fence.