My mother was speaking of a fairytale apartment
she had come across in the interior décor column:
a bachelor pad whose career woman owner
had spent a fortune refurbishing.
Her voice, more sonorous than usual,
addressed the doorway
where one of a multitude of her selves
to be slipped into while she shrugged off
her husband, three growing children and stack of bills.
By Betsy Esther TanQLRS Vol. 8 No. 4 Oct 2009