G. Y. BAXTER

Some would say I chose work

They don’t know—it may have chosen me

I’m a working mother

A woman named Sally

Takes care of my baby

Tiny and confused

I can’t stay to help

Happy, in fragments

Fleeting, stolen leisure . . .

That time we all paused

To celebrate

A broken BlackBerry

And hectic mornings

And sick days

And school plays

And school’s out

And staying late

Running

Running between two worlds

Passing

Passing years

Tears enough to drown me

But I swim

Because mommy must be strong

To live the lesson

I chose to teach her

How to define herself

And she

Letting slide

The forgotten holiday concert

The endless conference call

She is already strong

First with elaborate drawings

in bright markers

Determined, she scribbles

She is proud of me

Then one day

The greeting-card moment

She wants to be just like her mother

And I wonder

Who wouldn’t choose that?