Worst Thing in the World
It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world
she says and shuts the fridge door, raising an eyebrow.
and I think to myself, please not you too.
Not now, in my childhood kitchen
with my niece running around.
Not now when my sister just told everyone
she was pregnant again,
not now when my first novel came out,
when we just decided what country number five was.
Not now.
But she turns her back to me.
I make jokes and she half smiles,
reminding me again that having a baby
wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world
and I think
no not the worst,
picturing the mountains in Salzburg
and Mozart’s grave,
remembering Caesar’s
and waiting on Beethoven’s
not the worst,
I nod,
not the worst,
but so awfully, dangerously close.
