Poetry

At the 7-11

She sits in her black SUV,
A well-coiffed woman I know vaguely,
Cell phone open, pressed to chin, not ear.

What is in her head as she stares pensively,
Looking toward the store but not at it?
Who is she on this sunny afternoon?

Days lie expansively ahead,
Reopened with the schools.
What will fill her time? 

(My daughter ran to meet her friends today,
Waiting for her at the appointed corner.
They walked together, confidingly.

They do not think of mothers or what
fits into the space they held in us.)

She is still staring as I drive away.
Now I am pensive, too.

10 thoughts on “At the 7-11”

  1. Thanks, Scrivener. I don’t claim to be a poet, but from time to time I am struck by something I want to write about and cannot put into words any other way. Somehow it feels it would all be exposition or explanation instead of the kind of shorthand description I want.
    Jane Dark, that line is supposed to have a “not” in it! I didn’t even see it when I transcribed the poem. Weird. I was trying to get at the feeling of having The Princess run off without looking back at me yesterday morning. Interesting that it struck you in that form.

  2. Songbird, how funny — I was reading it with the not in it. Now I see that of course, it was never there. But it made sense.
    Man, now I’m embarrassed by my crap reading skills.

  3. Wow. That’s beautiful. Nice of you all to send your wonderful children to us. I’m starting to appreciate what a supreme act of faith and trust that is.

Leave a Reply