Jeanine

She was old and everything hurt,

But she made her mouth work

Against the pain.

“Elbow grease,” she spat at the dark-

Haired one who looked like she could

Fit inside Jeanine’s pocket. She didn’t

Fault her on her small shape, the eyes

Like two almonds, opened and always

Slightly confused and a mouth like

A cherry to its sundae. In fact, Jeanine

Felt sorry for this girl who was by all

Intents and purposes too beautiful

For words but just as stupid.

A waste, really, that’s what it was.

The girl, Carmen, was what happened

When bad luck wanted to make a fool

Of you. She crouched and cleaned the oven,

More like moved the burnt gristle from one

Side of its inner belly to the other,

And Jeanine sighed, thankful she only

Had one son who hadn’t done something

Foolish like have a child who was doomed

To clean some other person’s appliances.

She wouldn’t dare say it at the center though.

“Still working at my age,” she was always saying to Ray

Who liked to play cards in the big room with the skylights.

She’d sit with him, the ladies chatting nearby

In a circle that both irritated and intrigued Jeanine.

She had always been the odd one out, trailing her brothers

On the farm, her brothers who barely acknowledged

Her presence, but it was better than standing in the kitchen

With her mother and her sisters who always gave her dirty

Looks behind her mother’s back.

She fished for raised eyebrows, a look

Of mild fascination but the women stuck

To their cackles and knitting that

Made Jeanine’s knuckles ache

Just by watching.

At least, Jeanine thought, I’m my own boss,

Acknowledging what those ladies at the senior

Center couldn’t understand–that there was some

Good to be had, even in somebody else’s

Kitchen, even with knees that screamed

As she crouched down to Carmen’s level

To show her how it was done.