Waiting
The first year
She kept the porch light on
Slept on the couch
Still shopped for two.

After a year,
She bought new sheets
Purged closets
Signed papers.

After ten years
She no longer sent a Christmas card
To remind him
She was still there.


Before Seatbelts
'56 station wagon
Mother pregnant through another July
five children nestled amidst
six cans of gasoline
Don't want to run out

The road unfolded
a concrete strip leading to
the Land of Lakes
where the sacred uncle waited
annual homage to family

Wake your sisters every hour
The hole in the muffler spewed fumes
Carbon monoxide the unwelcome passenger
She wondered how long before it would be too late
For any of them.