i leave fresh-squeezed orange juice
and the man where the music is not
and slip out
to where it is everywhere.
jays and dew drops drown out
the weighty silence his voice carries.
i stoop to lift the Sacramento Bee
wet from last night's unexpected storm.
i deliver the funnies,
two sunny-side eggs and an overdone biscuit.
it's what he likes first;
then he reads the news:
abandoned Baby Doe, the baby in high school bathroom trash, in the dumpster.
so many babies
but, he's not much interested in babies
or my aching ovaries, empty uterus and aging nipples.
although, another egg and the Forum
would be just fine, indeed.
i crack the large brown shell,
spill and trace the tiny umbilical thread to heavy yolk
i form a baby in black Teflon
and serve it up on a pale blue platter.
Michelle Johnson is a single mom of two children (ages 17 & 4), five cats, and a guinea pig. She teaches composition, literature, and creative writing full-time at Sierra Community College in Rocklin, California. When she is not consumed with grading essays, she longs for the days when her four year old will be content to entertain himself and Dave Matthews Band will come knocking at her door for a private performance. A mom can dream, right?
