Look,
this is the way
a mother should
be,
hair combed
and the teeth
slick from the minutes
it takes to brush
them
and showered skin
that smells
like apples.
And she’s never hurried
almost lethargic
in her sanguine
fashion.
The skin that smells
like apples
and the teeth
slick
to the touch
should never
have the harsh
scent of glass bottles,
old man’s Jack,
V is for vodka
or the ever-telling
red wine stain.
No, mothers
should be like
the time
I saw that woman
with the baby shoved
snug against one hip
And a happy face
clutching the other
And she looked
like a painting,
breathing,
walking,
talking,
through
Target.
And loving
those children
Like love
never comes
at a cost.
Like love’s
a drug you drink
until it stains
your teeth.
Ericka Clay 
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