I was late for motherhood
the appointment was in a neighbourhood
I didn’t know      hidden behind billboards
and bare-limbed trees
for years I drove the highways
but the map given me at childhood
was missing pieces
like a puzzle where someone stole
all the blue edges

I had to ask directions
the doctor made me pass a test
I flunked the first time
later he would help me study
prescribe me vitamins
tell me not to worry things would work
out
I tried to follow his car to where
I thought I should be

you weren’t certain you wanted to live
there in that toy-strewn house
where the large windows first beckoned
at night I would dream of infants
and their tiny whispernames
in the darkness just before light broke
I would drive myself to where
the babies might be
that rendezvous I always meant to keep

it would be years later
when two boys became men
that I would remember
how it felt to be unfinished
lacking
missing those blue pieces
and realize
it was never about motherhood