Hurry
Marie Howe
We stop at the dry cleaners
and the grocery store
and the gas station and the
green market and
Hurry up honey, I say,
hurry,
as she runs along two or three
steps behind me
her blue jacket unzipped and
her socks rolled down.
Where do I want her to hurry
to? To her grave?
To mine? Where one day she
might stand all grown?
Today, when all the errands
are finally done, I say to her,
Honey I'm sorry I keep saying
Hurry—
you walk ahead of me. You be
the mother.
And, Hurry up, she says, over
her shoulder, looking
back at me, laughing. Hurry up
now darling, she says,
hurry, hurry, taking the house
keys from my hands.
