What should I have said at work this
morning while all flexed and jostled in
anticipation, remembering
service and sacrifice, making
imaginary comparisons, measuring the
level to which each is owed,
especially those who buried
the evidence, passed the
authorities on to the next
department, foot on the rug
concealing the hole in the
floor, its covert contents
smuggled in for the few at
personal risk. This evening,
I leave cans of food on the porch
for the Mail Carrier Hunger
Drive, the couple next door
at it again, fulfilling all the
predictions except for the baby.
Each day I rejoice in the
absence of little eyes and ears,
the lack of pitter patter
running away in fear. I give
thanks I’m not the weak end of
the teeter totter, high and
dry, too light to matter,
unable to come down.
Sandra Kolankiewicz
Sandra Kolankiewicz's poems have been accepted at Fortnightly Review, Galway Review, The Healing Muse, New World Writing and Appalachian Review. She is the author of Turning Inside Out, The Way You Will Go and Lost in Transition.