My Mother Imagines Another Life, by Brett Warren

When he travels, she stays up past midnight
and makes popcorn, store-bought in a foil pan 
with a twisted top that balloons as she slides it 
back and forth across the burner. She’s heard 
the unpopped kernels called old maids, so that’s 
what she calls them too. She likes the name, 
imagines being one. Better yet, an old-style nun. 
That’s a life she thinks she might enjoy, religion 
and calisthenics aside. There’d be a kitchen 
where everyone pitches in. Coffee percolating 
in a durable pot. A grand refectory with long tables, 
comfort food, companionable silence. Everyone
in the same clothes, a habit that accommodates 
the body as it swells or shrivels with age.
And the music—well, not so much the organ,
but definitely the singing. Old maids and nuns—
not exactly the same, but close enough. 
She loves to see them nestled in the bottom 
of the bowl, unscathed by fire, aglow 
in the heavenly peace of the undesired.

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Brett Warren (she/her) is the author of The Map of Unseen Things (Pine Row Press, 2023). Her poetry has appeared in Canary, Cape Cod Review, Hole in the Head Review, ONE ART, Rise Up Review, SWWIM, and elsewhere. She is a 2024 Pushcart nominee and was a triple nominee for Best of the Net (Poetry) in 2023. Learn more at www.brettwarrenpoetry.com.

© 2025, Brett Warren