Bio Note: I am a Midwestern high school teacher and Poetry Club advisor. My students and I have been actively involved in 100,000 Poets for Change. I served on the board of the Council for Wisconsin Writers and I am English language editor for Poetry Hall: A Chinese and English Bilingual Journal. I have published three chapbooks.
She skipped her fingers over Elements of Style and Medical Terminology but pulled out Moby Dick and Love Medicine, dropping them into the plastic laundry basket on her last walk-through, deciding what to take to the spare room in her mother’s apartment in town before he got home. With the sound of a lone pickup driving slowly, she swiveled her head toward the window with its view of the road and the fallow field beyond, making sure the truck wasn’t red with a dented bumper. She slid open the junk drawer leaving old bills and the spare key but took her passport shoved way in the back and her college ID from 1982. She left the potato ricer and crock pot but scooped up the corkscrew and slid her sharp Chicago chef’s knife from the walnut block after checking on the color of another truck whizzing down the road. Outside she scurried with the half-filled basket toward her 2006 minivan with its slumped suspension, eyeing the road and straining to hear what might be the sound of a distant engine but then slowed her pace under the bare March branches of the lofty ash, dragging her eyes to the hard earth that in six weeks would yield bleeding hearts and tiny blue forget-me-nots— capturing perfectly the idea of a cloudless summer sky.
©2023 Sylvia Cavanaugh
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to say what it is about the poem you like. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -JL