You’re doing too much, she said.
Fine, I thought. But really look at my life for
a change. Then tell me how to do less.
You just need to relax, she said. You get all
I told her I knew that. That even my breasts
were tired. She said she preferred the word bosoms. I said they were
just pillows and mine were so small they were moot anyway.
You always were a child of whimsy, she said.
I’ve got your whimsy, I thought. Right here.
All my life, I'd wanted a motherly mother, the
kind who’d nestle me into a pair of soothing motherly pillows.
Instead I got the kind that says, “You’re working your twat off, you
know,” seated around a full Thanksgiving table.
Mary Akers’ work has appeared in Bellevue Literary
Review, The Fiddlehead, Brevity, and other
journals. Her short story collection Women Up On Blocks was
published earlier this year, and she has a co-authored non-fiction
book due out in January. She has an MFA from Queens University of
Charlotte and has been a Bread Loaf waiter and returning work-study