She buys a maternity shirt. He says
ooh mommy to her chest. She buys
a laptop so she can work from home
when the baby's born. To test the signal
in the bedroom, they stream porn.
Who will she, my sister, become when it—
future resident of the room stocked
with stuffed animals from our childhood
and games salvaged from our grandmother's
just-sold-for-a-sad-apartment house—is born?
Across the country, I vow to learn Spanish,
start cooking with turmeric,
write a different kind of book. No one
will help make me new for you, no one
will distract us.
Alaska Quarterly Review Spring & Summer 2014
Spring & Summer 2014
Copyright © 2014 by Elizabeth Bradfield
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission