Poem: The Unanchored Mother and Her Cupcakes

by Regis Boff

The unanchored mother
is sure-footed
when she bakes.
She floats the cupcakes in shallow seas of Crisco.
Riding them in neat lines
side by side
In crimped colored tissue,
like well-dressed immigrants,
on an ocean voyage
to the oven.

The unanchored mother
broke from her moorings,
today.
The husband is gone.
Cakes will take his place.
She daydreams of icing slapped mouths
and what she will say
about the hole,
at the end of the table
where their anchor used to sit.
The Cyclops eye of long marriage,
that photographed the past, is patched and blank now.
She has only her two eyes left
To remember the children.

The unmoored mother bobs in her waters
of empty plates and crumbs.
The kids hurry through the suppertimes
glancing rarely at the hole.
Then they floated away.

The unanchored mother,
rocks in her childless, noiseless sea,
and reaches for another cupcake.