Frosting

Katherine and her sister stand among family

in a backyard talking about people they used to know.

I heard Miss Turner got married, Margaret says.

She moved north for a while to finish her PhD.

I’m happy for her. Katherine doesn’t want

to be jealous, a rare pang.

She glances at her girls wearing crisp blue dresses.

Their folded white socks slip under their shiny black shoes

as they jump rope with cousins by the garage.

She takes Jimmie’s elbow. They stroll

to the table with desserts. As he hands her

a slice of cake on a paper plate,

his brother-in-law joins them. Eric runs a community center

and knows a lot of people in and around Hampton,

where he says there are good jobs. Some over at Langley

by the air base are open to women with math degrees.

Katherine holds her fork over a slice of cake,

listens for her daughters jumping rope.

The two spinning and swishing ropes sound like many.

She says, Moving might be hard on the girls.

Our life is blessed the way it is.

Finish that cake. Jimmie scrapes up a dab of frosting

he holds to her lips. It’s time to take another chance.