I am destined for comfort – that’s what they said
in my high school year book. Most Likely to Sleep
in a Dog Bed. Most Likely to Raise One Tatty Goat.
Why should I feel bad? Why be ashamed
if this is all I want: to make pancakes for my son,
to write a poem now and then, fall asleep
in the sun on the couch when I should be working –
and for what? I like to buy rice and beans in bulk.
I like secondhand jeans and secondhand jars,
library books and bedtime routines – gosh –
any routine. Is that who I thought I would be?
Is this what I’d always dreamed of? No,
or, Maybe, but in a way. I asked for this
when I didn’t know what to ask for.
When I didn’t know how to ask.
I’m asking now. I’m asking. That’s something
to be proud of. Sure. There are a lot of drops of water
in that river and this is only one.
I’m certain of that. Sure. And I’m secure
in the knowledge that I am happy.
Late in the day I lie on the floor
while my child plays and a dog curls beside me
and says, “What are you doing in my bed?”
Rhiannon Conley is a poet and writing instructor living in North Dakota. Her work has appeared in The North Dakota Quarterly, Grimoire, Occulum, Whale Road Review, Literary Mama, Longleaf Review and Moonchild Magazine. She was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2016 and for Best of the Net in 2018. Her first chapbook, Less Precious, was published by Semiperfect Press in 2017. She writes an irregular newsletter of short poetic essays called Smol Talks and more regularly Tweets @RhiannonAdmidas.