Sunday Scribblings: Regrets (or Not)

Today's theme at Sunday Scribblings is "regrets," but my take here is "no regrets."

Letter to the Man I Didn't Marry

Today I ran three yellow lights,
which in some states signal the driver
to clear the intersection and in others to proceed
with caution.
I did neither,
as I'm sure you recall.
I hear
you've been asking about me.

My baby knocks more insistently
these days, especially after I eat
what's bad for me:
chips or chocolate, late night
bowls of sweetened cereal.
(You disapprove, I know. I remember
the angle of your head.)
Maybe she will look
like me.
Maybe she will be a he. My breasts
grew larger while I napped.
When I opened my eyes, my son
was there to kiss my cheek
with his tiny chapped lips.

From the front porch swing
I watched the librarian fly by on her bike
like the wicked witch and the irises rise
inch by inch.
I am itching
to get my hands in the soil,
to smell the dirt caked thick and dark
beneath my nails.
You were wrong, you know.
You never could have been the one
to heal me.

~Sarah Cummins Small, copyright 1999

For more Sunday Scribblings, click on the link above.