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.