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I tripped over a hockey-bag while starting laundry, when I heard the bus pull up...Victoria always looks for Mom's 'see-you' wave...

He asks, with eyebrows raised

If ‘do I think that possibly

I miss the thrill of knowing

My full potentiality

Implying, ‘Here

Among the mundane-ness

Of household chores and such’

He dangles it as ‘nothings’

…all these things that I call love

And do I think it is enough?

The noise of boys

And toys

And ‘little things'

Which fill me with

Ten-thousand unnamed joys

He asks me if ‘I never

Long for more than merely this?’

I wonder, does he mean smiles, hugs

Or pudgy, smudgy toast-crumb kiss?

And then, he lays before me

What he calls a golden ladder

Promising money,

As though it could buy

Those things

That really matter

© Janet Martin