I Was Compliant

The Girls Who Went Away, 3

[Part of: The Girls Who Went Away: Poems.]

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His boss had offered us a room to rent
To find our footing when the baby came.
But when my mother saw his family's house
With its linoleum floors and unkept yard,
She said, we’ll see about that. And she said
Is this the life you want in twenty years?
He knew first that it was hopeless, and
Joined the Marines. I waited. Then she said
You’re going to the Willows. You’ll forget
This ever happened. Someday you will thank me. 

I was compliant—that’s the best word.
The train departed after dark, and I
Cradled my secret in that lonely quiet.
We woke in dirty seats and morning twilight.
Once outside my mother hailed a cab. 
The Home’s front door looked welcoming, I thought,
But lofted high above some thirty stairs.
Our driver steered around them to the back
Without instruction: when he looked at me
He must have seen us all. My mother watched
Me enter, crying in her ugly sleeveless blouse.

My doctor knew; I never told my husband. 
He’ll just think you’re used-up merchandise.
Things fell apart between us just the same. 
We separated, and one Saturday
He came by, and I told him. I explained
About the daughter I had given up.
I saw compassion I had never seen before. 
It may have been our finest moment. 
I did not cry. It was still too late. 

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After “Annie,” in The Girls Who Went Away by Ann Fessler.