She says this as she grabs a box of oatmeal,

And as I look at my forgotten friend in the aisle of Target,

Lululemon from her headband to her crossbody bag,

Baby buckled safely in the cart,

And I laugh as I tell her

I work at an elementary school

And have twenty minutes after the kids leave

To make it to my rehearsal.

Drive thrus are too slow these days,

So I pack a tackle box filled with snacks

That I can eat between scenes:

Baby cucumbers cut into sticks,

Beef jerky for some protein.

My fifth graders don’t know I play

A very convincing corpse after school.

I know how a body moves when it’s stabbed,

Can let go of the tension in my back

To ragdoll across the stage.

I make it home around 11pm,

A new bruise on my shoulder,

Look over the scene blocking for the kids,

Prep my script for both rehearsals tomorrow.

I finally put on socks that aren’t sweat-soaked.

She says she knows that feeling,

Sees the ring on my finger,

Tells me, Just wait until the kids are yours, too

And goes to find those little cereal puffs.

I look for more beef jerky.

Kids aren’t in the cards for me.

I have always wanted a life like this.

Jessie Anne Harrison (she/her) is a poet from Houston, Texas currently residing in Utah. While she completes her MFA in Creative Writing from Arcadia University, she has focused on poetry exploring identity reconstruction, grief, and mental health. Her writing can also be found on Mobius: Journal for Social Change, The Prose Poem, Anodyne Magazine, and The Cosmic Daffodil. When not writing, she can be found onstage across northern Utah.