Dear, I made a casserole —
Nine Hungry-Man dinners
Stacked and melted
In the oven. Ah,
See that plastic
Spilling over. Dig in!
What’s wrong?
Oh, don’t you like it, hon?
Sorry to nag.
Maybe you’re right,
Each day I get
More like my mom.
Mom’s a Matryoshka
Doll with painted lips.
Years have hollowed me
In her likeness.
Anyhow —
When I was young,
I’d walk to the docks
And watch them carry
Passengers away. Once
A girl onboard
Saw me and waved.
Suddenly I knew
The boat was leaving
Carrying myself.
I couldn’t swim.
I jumped in after her.
I breathed in salt
And floated free — until
My skirt wrapped round
Like a dark hand
Dragging down.