Daydreaming

 

On my better days,

I love the window over my kitchen sink

from where I can watch

the going and coming of neighbors, their

kids running and screaming, having fun;

it takes my mind off the mundane task

of washing cups and dishes,

scrubbing pots and pans.

Then, there are the other days when

I hate the window over my kitchen sink

and wished it was a brick wall instead.

Those are the days my mind wanders

and enters the mystifying

paths of the imagination.

Those are they days I see my own kids,

unbiddenly gone before me.

As if by magic,

I see my firstborn, twelve years old,

sitting on the porch across the street with her friend.

I’m sure they are talking about boys.

Sometimes they whisper, other times they laugh.

I remember when I was twelve.

My second daughter is ten,

she’s somewhat of a tomboy.

I see her riding her bike with the next door boys,

There she goes,

yelling and racing, vying for first place.

Then there’s my youngest,

a healthy, robust boy who plays on

the neighborhood Little League Team.

I see him coming home, face grimy & sweaty,

uniform covered with mud

from stealing bases to win the game.

What a rascal!

Suddenly,

a cup slips out of my hands and

crashes into the sink!

As it breaks into a thousand tiny pieces,

my wandering mind comes back,

back to my reality of

a house without children,

a house that is quiet & tidy,

a house that is painfully barren,

a house with a window over the kitchen sink.

Mildred Santiago