My twins sit next to me in a college
classroom. To blend in I
clogs, a cowl-neck sweater.
Through the metal blinds
I stare at our VW Bug,
nestled among Vegas,
Snow falls fast, steady, camouflaging
the dinge of a Jersey February.
I could easily buckle
the girls in the backseat,
slip and slide the Bug onto the
Parkway and never look back,
erase this state from memory.
The rise and fall of the professor's
voice brings me back into the
classroom. I twirl my long,
bleached hair, highlight phrases
in Intro to Psych hoping my notes
hold the answer for keeping
my family together. I smile
as the girls color outside the lines
in matching books. Cinderella's
pumpkin chariot, a flaming globe,
green tendrils raining
from stem, lips extend across cheek,
a thick red line bleeding into white space.