Objects in the Mirror are Closer than they Appear

~ after Denise Duhamel, but not exactly



I did marry too young, and didn't stay
in my hometown. But this is just summary;
it didn't happen like poof, with nothing
else in between. Plenty happened. But 
that's another poem, many poems. I thought 
the fastest way to make a life all my own 
was to start a family. Church wedding, 
sponsors, cake (I remember blue 
and white icing, but don't remember 
what flavor); then children, the whole 
shebang. Years in, a life blended 
of mother-work and teacher-work. 
I explained to a friend how, despite 
and instinctively, what I tried to do 
was hold on to a clear sense of myself— 
which meant still becoming. Some women
in the PTA looked pityingly at me, 
touching the pearls around their necks,
discreetly adjusting the pantyhose around
their ankles. There must have been a time 
when I tried to be like them, before I 
gave up. I love my children, and I 
still like cake. I love the depth 
of what I haven't discovered yet 
about the world, which means myself.