BALANCING ACT
By Almira Astudillo Gilles

My mother never made beef stew
that was not flavored with fish sauce,
and she questioned the wisdom
of bread in place of rice.

My father never worked for a boss
who thought afternoon naps were unforgivable,
for whom loss of face was temporary
and easily forgotten.

My sister never fell in love
with a man as pale as sand although,
given the chance, she might have
at least dated one.

My son has never played baseball
using a bamboo bat and a rolled up sock
on a tar-topped street
with potholes as bases.

My daughter has never been greeted
by a rooster crowing in the morning
and will never have the problem
of cockroaches at night.

My husband will never have family
enough to populate a small town,
and none of his current friends
count as family.

I have always been the fulcrum
balancing experiences holding up
the plane, shifting the weight
from never to maybe.

© Almira Astudillo Gilles

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