And we do overhear her mother practicing scales
In the sunroom, preparing for a performance
She will never give. In reality, she had a voice,
When young, good enough for a career in opera
Or on the concert stage, but it was her choice
To stay at home and raise her children.
That was sixty years ago, in another country,
But she still has visions of being on stage, thrilling
Her audience, taking a deep bow, blowing them kisses.
But in this instance her audience, three women
And one man, sits quietly, listens appreciatively,
But refrains from applause when she’s done.
It was her choice, she said, but maybe it wasn’t.
Certainly, she regrets she missed her day in the sun,
And has never stopped thinking she had the gift
And the personality, the drive and the ambition,
If not the time and the means to make a go of it.
So much of it, she found, had to do with chance.