Are You Okay?
Shake your head for yes.
She blinks, tilts her head, speaks.
You are on mute, I say, squinting
To read the poster on her wall.
No… She mimes. A concert in a park
Or an art exhibit, something freshly
Out of reach. It’s your headphones.
She’s almost always right.
This is not a routine meeting.
A paragraph went missing, she says.
She had her baby on her lap, maybe
That was why the words got dropped.
She knows it has been fixed and still
She can’t stop crying. I thought I had…
The baby isn’t sleeping.
And we are not machines. We just
Live in them. Alone, together, alone.
She wonders if she can do her job.
We are navigating a night
That hides the stars, and sometimes
She forgets that she is brilliant.
It wasn’t always like this.
Back when my babies declined naps
Like unruly toddler drunks spoiling
For a fight, we mothers of toothless
Tyrants gathered in houses for wine.
We dug out shirts lacking spit stains
And talked about (no) sex and leakage.
We were the rebel weary.
This is what babies do, I tell her.
The sisterhood gone digital. They roar.
They chafe against the dark, craving
Touch and yearning for the light
That frames their people in a doorway.
They doubt the promise of morning.
It was a concert, she says.
And we agree to roar.
©Peggy Moss 2021
