Untitled prose poem

Mother researches day care programs and places Dad in one that has activities for a wide range of abilities, with plenty of light streaming through the windows. He goes twice a week, Tuesday and Friday.

"I really don't know why I have to do this," he grumbles. He has to be there from nine o'clock to three o'clock, which exhausts him.

"You're doing it as a favor to me," Mother answers.

After only two weeks, he refuses to continue. Six hours is too long. It's a shame they won't accept half-days. "Oh, well," Mother says, scooping a handful of resignation from her inner lake.

Lately, for some strange reason, I've been wondering which of his three daughters he will forget first. I wish I could tell him it's okay if he forgets me first. As the oldest, I think I'd be able to handle it better. So I just want to say, Dad, if it's a help, forget me first.

by Nancy Lagomarsino, age 67, Hanover, NH

From "Light from an Eclipse" White Pine Press, 2005