I go to the supermarket. Again.
I walk quickly down the aisles,
not seeing what is really there.
Only what I buy every trip.
Fruit, cheese, eggs, milk, tortillas, salsa.
I know there is more here
but I can’t spare a moment
to see the variety. Different options.
There is just never enough time.
How is it that the supermarket
is now a metaphor for motherhood?
--
Originally posted in March 2011