A Banana Bread Baby

Dear Mom,

Aaron baked

banana bread muffins.

And Evelyn ate a whole muffin

all by herself.
Hot banana-bread-scent stuck to the air,

but I missed it, my fingers busily ticking at my keyboard in the silent library:

acquiring my degree

like you never did.

Evelyn waddled into my bedroom,

searching. “Mama?” she repeated

tugging on the bed covers, where she often

finds me, sleeping,

because I’m always tired,

but I missed it, busy analyzing when one should or should not use passive voice:

acquiring my degree

like you never did.

Mom, Evelyn crunched an autumn leaf, swept snow from her mittens, touched the hot pink geraniums, and gave one a kiss,

and I missed it.

But you never did.