Literary Mama writing about the many faces of motherhood

One comment

As in enlarging or expanding,
as in piecing together

He sits at the brand-new kitchen table
in dwindling light, a flat screen before him

erasing what was
to make something new

adolescent fingers tapping the keyboard,
summoning scaffolds of symbols and signs

concrete then rubble,
foundation then floor

as in growth, as in cells
pulled out of thin air

as in two feet becoming
four, eating up the yard

rough drafts of muscle
supporting the bone

on the blueprints there was no
yard, only lines

the face already leaner, nearly

only white space
where a yard would be

the legs longer, faster
for walking away

the wraparound porch
like a formal embrace:

Look what I’ve done, he says
beaming, and I look

 as in gain, not loss

then he stands and goes,
leaving me to sit

 not loss, not loss

in this gleaming expanse,
this now finished space

 To start over click CLEAR

Jennifer O’Grady is an award-winning poet and playwright, and the mother of two teenagers. She is the author of White, winner of the Mid-List Press First Series Award for Poetry. Her poems have been anthologized and featured in Harper’s, The New Republic, Poetry Daily, The Writer’s Almanac with Garrison Keillor, and numerous other places. Her plays include Charlotte’s Letters (Semifinalist for the Eugene O’Neill Theater Center’s 2016 National Playwrights Conference); Paranormal Love (MTWorks NewBorn Festival and a Finalist for the 2015 NewVember New Plays Festival); and Quasars, represented in The Best Women’s Stage Monologues 2014; among others.

More from

Yes, this is just it. You've captured it so well. Thank you.
Comments are now closed for this piece.