Right there on the side street curb,
I did it. I quit. I told my children
to find another mom. I’m done,
I said. Please, go find another woman
who doesn’t get so frustrated, who
lets you do any little thing you want.
I didn’t think about the future.
All I knew was that I had nothing
left to give them. It had not been
a terrible day. We rode bikes
alongside a river. We had panned
for gold in a makeshift sluice.
We had snuggled in bed with a book
to start the day. Sometimes our lowest points
look so shallow on the surface.
Who could see that there was a fathomless dry ocean
inside me, nothing but a basin where once
whole worlds had thrived.
It was habit that saved us. We closed
the doors to the car. I walked
toward the street without looking back.
It was a few seconds later I feared
that perhaps they were not behind me,
but there they were in quiet step.
How could it be, but in those few seconds
some mysterious hand had come
to refill the empty sea, not just with enough
to wade in, no, but with love overflowing,
great tides of love, the kind you can sail on
in boat that only floats with more than one on board.