Karen Corinne Herceg © 2015 • Privacy Policy

 

 

 

Mommy takes a long swig of cocktail,

always a chance for blurt,

a revelation somehow

of something we never wanted.

Did you know,

and so it begins.

There’s another sister somewhere,

on another shore,

another one of you.

Wide-eyed, my sister and I

pause

as she orders another martini.

Two olives, please.

 

This third remains unknown.

It was the war and Daddy was lonely,

she sighs and sips,

didn’t know the possibility of us,

couldn’t make it right on foreign shores.

He was blinded by Mommy’s shiny allure,

undefined promises

beckoning him homeward.

 

So the baby disappeared

decades gone

into distant geography.

She shows up now,

amid swish and clink

at this luncheon of sly glances

and gaping mouths,

watching us silently

from another womb.

 

 

First published in LITERARY MAMA October 2015

 

Published in "Secrets & Dreams Anthology," KIND OF A HURRICANE PRESS 2016

Two Olives, Please