From Day One she knew it.
The large shred of white plastic she wove into her nest was wrong.
Unnerving, with its bold blue letters.
Like a dress that looked good in the fitting room, but oh my, when you get it home:
What was I thinking??
Well, a dress can go back to the store (could, in the old days)
Or into the closet of hope.
But this! In her face, till the children leave home.
Oh say can you see
How it billows annoyingly?
I’ve glimpsed her tugging
Like the dress tugged one more time over matronly midriff
Which is not going anywhere.
Then she would set the remorse aside
To help someone struggle out of a shell
Or do centering prayer with her husband
Or catch a break to stretch her wings.
This morning she was at it again:
I curse the day I found this miserable shred.
And lo, it came free!
Came free and she settled with a huge sigh
Back onto her babies.
Interfering me, I wondered if I should go out and
Remove it from her sight.
But that would be wrong so many ways.
Not least that her husband is her practical helper.
And sure enough, before long he took out the garbage.