Career Woman

She got up every morning

and went to work with just a dab
of blush and a little mascara and
always lipstick, mostly in
darker burgundy shades that
matched the merlots she drank
in the evening hours, upon
returning from her day of work,
not her dream. She had a closet
full of clothes from mid-level
priced mall shops. Nothing
quality, nothing that would
last; but fashionable, always.

Each evening, she listened to choral
music in the dark as she rocked in
her chair for hours. Occasionally
she would stop to pull the chair
forward again; a heavy rocker,
which she managed to move with
a force that she could not place
behind her own life's dreams
which dissolved each night
into the wine-stained mug
that gave her warmth and
renewed strength to rise again
the following day and do it
all again--the deep red, almost
brown, lipstick; the fashionable
outfit purchased at forty percent
off the Saturday before, the still
new pantyhose pushed into the
cute but uncomfortable shoes.

A career woman of the 80's; a
woman who wanted to be at
home with her children each
day, endlessly replaying the
song Salvation is Created
on her living room turntable
to hear the final low note that
could send shivering whispers of
hope, to her every hair follicle.
It always made her sad to
know its creator never heard
this beautiful piece of music
performed and she would
somehow identify with his
loss; with all who are forced
to be something other than
what they are meant to be.

All that was left to her each
weekend was to clean her
house with zest and iron her
children's blue jeans until
there were no wrinkles left.