A zoom meeting, in verse

 

The newlyweds give me the best news a parent can receive

and I have nothing to respond.

I sit silent, deadpan, as her mother asks

“Do you know what that picture is?”

 

“Yes,” and I suppose I change to a pleased expression,

blurt out some benign comment.

The chatter through the computer speaker returns,

While the screen shifts from that iconic, indecipherable wedge of black and white.

 

I am not there.

I am watching from far, too far away,

Miles and years and lives away.

 

I suppose I could have reprised my expression of four months ago.

That day that I kept too busy to be so self-absorbed.

I sat with the girl who takes, and yet returns my son,

Greeting strangers and friends “what a blessing this is.”

 

In my tailored gown, black gloves and shaped eyebrows

I filled my head with vanity, better than envy.

Danced and clapped and enthused through my mask

for the lively couple, glorying in their evening, stark in their black and white.

 

The crooked, overwide, plastered-on smile,

appears once, and again, and once more in the wedding albums.

They are handed out now, mine still miles and hours away.

 

The uncles-to-be are proud and excited in their role.

Their family is growing,

Bringing more connections and tiny spirits to touch

soon: “Do you know whose little toe this is?”

 

How can one be so jealous of her child? I would do anything

for them, but still I want more, I want mine.

My closest friends whisper “Happy, happy, it should all be good!”

Because they don’t live in disappointments, in black and white.

Yummy is good, right?

 

Last night I got home from work followed by shopping and not finding what I wanted and in a bit of a funk, so I wanted to cook something a bit special, something fun.  In the refrigerator I had beautiful eggplants that I had bought just the day before. I sliced the eggplant, salted the eggplant, breaded the eggplant, fried the eggplant, packed away half in wax paper, and placed the other half in a baking pan with tomato sauce and cheese to bake.

Po came home after a very long day at school. “Did you eat dinner yet?”

“I just had a snack; there is eggplant in the oven for dinner.”

“Woah, thank you, looks great. What is this stuff in the bowl?”

“Oh, that’s leftover raw egg, to make the eggplant.”

“There’s egg in the eggplant??”

“To batter the slices.”

“You battered the slices??”

“… Are you just being comical? YES, I battered the slices, I fried the eggplant, I baked it with sauce and cheese and spices. That’s how you cook eggplant.”

“When I make eggplant, I just cut it, smear with pizza sauce and cheese, and bake…”

 

So he starts eating while I am occupied elsewhere. I came back to find a couple small slices left in the pan. They were yummy.

I told Po there is still more fried eggplant in the ‘fridge, if he wants to have some more.

When I clean up before bed, I see all the eggplant is gone except one small, lonely slice.

I think to myself, “What happened? I did nothing this evening except cook this eggplant, and it’s gone, I have nothing to show for it. What a waste!”

But as I thought about it this morning, that’s a foolish, misleading way to think about it. Maybe I wanted some leftovers, but the eggplant is gone because it was GOOD, Po enjoyed it, it was consumed. A true waste would be if it was bad, and no one wanted much, and it stayed in the refrigerator until it went moldy. Neither would it have been good to make huge quantities of this oily delicacy; it’s really much better in moderation – I would have been annoyed if Po and I had gluttonous amounts over several meals.

“You should be proud and pleased,” I thought. And for a few pleasant moments I was, as I had my toast and coffee for breakfast… but that is another story for another day.