Maia Huddleston
ten years from now (most likely)
i’m crying at 2 a.m. because i want to know that i’ll be there when my firstborn decides they
want to kill themself for the first time
sam sleeping calmly beside me
i choke my pillow and push my guilt back down my throat
in the morning i’ll eat some cereal
take my kid to school and go to work at the office,8-5:30 p.m.
heat leftover spaghetti from the night before in the break room, wipe the tomato guts from the
virgin walls of the microwave
answer telephone calls
thank you for calling Pilson Auto Centers this is **** how may i direct your call?
pick my kid up from school
ten years from now (we’ll see)
i host a wine tasting at my shop
sam helps me decorate the place, keeps telling me how proud he is of me
that i created something so beautiful
so innovative
our foster kids stay at home for the evening, not old enough to drink but too old to need a sitter
they each have their own room
ten years from now (if i go crazy)
i sign a year-long contract with Walgreens, shifting their marketing efforts to bring in Gen Z
the headquarters is in A City I’ve Never Heard Of, massachusetts
i do my research. change my tinder, bumble, hinge locations
i need to meet a man to help me hang art on the flaking walls of my one bedroom
i need to meet a woman to wrap her arms around me as i vomit my memory
my heart gets broken every month; it hurts but i find someone else to fill the void
my family grieves for me, though i am still alive