Dear M,
Rent from DeepDyve- Dear M,
Having a child is not what you think. Unlike us, even up close, they are perfect. Their pearly skin glows. They are usually born complete: fingernails! eyelashes! mouths that open! I am only guessing you are sad because you do not have one. Yet you still have the beautiful privacy of your mind. You have whole afternoons to watch clouds. Having a child does not help me breathe. Last night I drove halfway to the store with a toddler on my lap before I realized and buckled him into a car seat. Then I drove a school bus uphill through a haunted forest. Gray mannequins hung from trees, red mouths open. And I just hoped my daughter in seat five would close her eyes. When I glanced down at the gearshift, I forgot how to drive. I cannot ask the dreams to stop. We have barely met. I write this intending to comfort you.
Sincerely, K [End Page 153]
Kathleen McGookey has published a book of poems, Whatever Shines (White Pine P), a chapbook of poems, October Again (Burnside Review Press), and a book of translations of French prose poet Georges Godeau, We’ll See (Parlor Press). Her chapbook Mended is just out from Kattywompus Press, and her next book, At the Zoo, is forthcoming from White Pine Press.
