dinner’s tough tonight

by Ashley Kirkland

The younger one asks 

if war will happen 

here & if we’ll get old, 

spaghetti sauce smeared 

on his cheeks. He means here

as in Ohio & it’s hard to say

what he means by old. My husband

takes the first question, answers

with something about being 

in the middle, something

like, who would bother? I take 

the second.We all get old, I say 

and it makes me sad to lie 

more, knowing it’s not true: not 

everyone gets to grow old. 

We all get old? he says, and I say it 

again with resolution: We all 

get old. I try to picture him 

then as an old man, even though

he’s so small right now, 

and me, long gone. I run 

my hand over his peach 

of a noggin – a baby-soft, 

summer buzz. I want him to live 

until he’s old, and then 

some, but also, to never know 

life without me, the sadness 

of being motherless, like 

losing a limb. I cut

a meatball in half and slide

it to the side, mouth 

a piece of gristle to the tip 

of my tongue. 

Ashley Kirkland writes in Ohio where she lives with her husband and sons. Her work can be found in Cordella Press, boats against the current, The Citron Review, Naugatuck River Review, HAD, Major7thMagazine, among others. Her chapbook, BRUISED MOTHER, is available from Boats Against the Current. She is a poetry editor for 3Elements Literary Review. You can find her at lashleykirkland.bsky.social and lashleykirklandwriter on Instagram.