By Debby Bacharach
In twenty years, it won’t matter
that I put in baseboard heaters. My son
will not move home.
He’ll move in with two young men
who own a start-up, take turns scrubbing the grill.
My son will put himself in charge
of the pumpkin chocolate chip bread.
He won’t call me for the recipe. He still won’t drive,
but he’ll say he doesn’t care.
I’m hungry. Caught in traffic
next to the park. The sandbox
bitter gray.
A mother bends down, tucks in
a knit orange scarf, and I
swallow like Cronuos.
Deborah Bacharach is the author of two full-length poetry collections: Shake & Tremor (Grayson Books, 2021) and After I Stop Lying (Cherry Grove Collections, 2015). Her poems, book reviews and essays have been published in One Art, New Letters, Poet Lore, and The Writer’s Chronicle among many others, and she has received a Pushcart prize honorable mention. She is currently a poetry reader for SWWIM and Whale Road Review and a mentor with PEN America. She lives in Seattle. Find out more about her at DeborahBacharach.com.
