GAS Featured Poet: Sharon Waller Knutson

 

Sharon Waller Knutson is a retired journalist who lives in Arizona. She has published several poetry books including My Grandmother Smokes Chesterfields (Flutter Press 2014) and What the Clairvoyant Doesn’t Say and Trials & Tribulations of Sports Bob (Kelsay Books 2021) and Survivors, Saints and Sinners forthcoming by Cyberwit. Her work has also appeared in Black Coffee Review, Terror House Review, Trouvaille Review, ONE ART, Mad Swirl, The Drabble, Gleam, Spillwords, Muddy River Review, Verse-Virtual, Your Daily Poem, Red Eft Review, The Five-Two and The Song Is…

Best Mom in the World

 

She dives like a swan in the blue

sky in her satin wedding gown

as her groom in black and white

tuxedo and shirt lifts her above

her head. Won’t we make beautiful

babies? she asks fingering the photo.

 

But you hate children. I remember

when we were rival reporters

attending parties on the weekend

and I was upstairs reading bedtime

stories to the children of the hosts

while she was hunting for Mr. Right.

 

After she is promoted as editor

of the social page and meets

the handsome architect

and trust fund baby, she flashes

a two carat diamond ring.

We can afford a houseful of kids.

 

We’ll just hire someone else

to take care of them. And I’m

not going to ruin my firm boobs

and flat stomach so we’ll pay

a surrogate to go through

morning sickness and labor pains.

 

I am surprised when years later

while visiting the San Diego Republic,

I spot her sitting in the break room

drinking coffee out of a mug, engraved:

Best Mom in the World, as she tells

me she is quitting to be a full time mom.

I gave two weeks notice today. I joined

the gym and signed up for Zumba, Yoga,

Pilates and Aerobics. Moms must be fit.

When I arrive for dinner at her four-story

home on the hill overlooking La Jolla

Beach, a middle-aged woman answers the door.

 

Madame is soaking in the bubble bath

before she dresses for dinner. She escorts

me into the family room where a young

fit brunette in a pony tail and jogging suit

is putting shoes on the toddler.  Four

blond boys greet me with a curtsy and a smile.

 

I play scrabble with the six- and eight-year-olds

while bouncing the toddler on my knee

as the four-year-old stares with saucer eyes.

Whiskey, vodka or rum? the tall suit

says as he sticks his head in the room.

Just a glass of ice water will be fine.

 

The kitchen door swings open and a man

in a chef’s apron and hat exits with my water

as the scent of meatloaf and mushrooms

mixes with musk and lavender on her skin

as madame waltzes down the stairs

in stiletto heels and turquoise gown.

 

We’re going to the country club, she announces.

handing me a slinky red dress that fits like a stocking.

I told you not to touch mommy. It’s adult time,

she says as the nannies whisk away the boys.

Isn’t she the best mom? asks her husband

as we get into the Maserati and drive away.