I am vacuuming.
I am Princess Leia.
I am tasting the marinara for sweetness.
I am loading the dishwasher.
Listening down the stairs for the dryer’s buzz.
Pouring glasses of milk.
I am filling the dogs’ dishes.
I am watching maple leaves fall.
I am picking up crayons.
I am calling the pharmacy.
Scheduling dentist appointments.
Checking my email.
Covering the tender plants.
I am ironing shirts
(and this is a waste of time, I know,
but tomorrow my children have school pictures,
so I am dragging out the
ironing board, a wedding gift —
yes, a damn wedding gift —
to make sure all the imperfections
are smoothed. Rarely is one of my son’s
vocabulary words. Momma rarely irons, he says
to the back of my bent head).
I have a Valium hidden in my wallet.
I have the maple leaves.
I have an appointment for a tattoo.
I have mustard greens to cut.
I have the sweet marinara.
I have selective hearing.
I have a new brown bottle that rattles with the cure.
I am not the Den Mother, the Room Mother or
the Mother of All Mothers.
I have lists in my head.
I will smooth out the imperfections.
The tender plants might make it.
Photo Credit: Staff