Kindergarten
Cooper came home
with a single bite
out of his pb&j,
his Oreos still
in their wrapper.
Guess what, Mom,
he said later in bed
after the last page
of Grumpy Monkey,
we had our first
lockdown drill today,
and his mother, whose
snaggle-toothed boy
is a miracle born
of false starts
and daily injections
and a parade of eggs
that couldn’t find
purchase, found just
enough air in her lungs
to say
oh,
and then,
you like to practice
safety, don’t you?
and,
did you listen
to your teacher?
The miracle yawned.
We did it in case
of dangerous
things like bears
and black widows,
he said and closed
his eyes, his cheek
on her chest an inch
from her heart.
About the Author: Tina Williams lives in Round Rock, Texas. Some of her poems have appeared in Quartet, San Pedro River Review, The New Verse News, Amethyst Review, 3rd Wednesday and Autumn Sky Poetry.
Image Credit: J. Muusses School desk (1910) Public domain image courtesy of Artvee
