M.J. Iuppa

We All Have Many Choices

Nothing calls to her like pot stickers. She looks up:
19 ingredients. 90 minutes. 80 calories. She finds
it hard making a living, much less a meal. She’s stuck.
Alone, with a craving that just won’t quit. Her cupboard
is bare. small sigh. She’ll have to start from scratch,
which means going to the Piggly Wiggly, where she’ll
pass a Deli cold case filled with Chinese to-Go. Done
. So much cheaper than buying fresh & cooking
for one. She tweets her desire, finds her sports bra slung
on a chair, and dresses for a quick ride to town.


Spinster, old maid, bag of bones— M felt her age,
holding herself tight in bed, she broke three ribs, but
waited to tell her two sisters, who lived with her. She
didn’t want to set off an alarm. Everything’s fine, she’d
say, then admire the impatiens flourishing in the sun-
room and sip a cup of tea. Her eyes were an Irish blue.
A nurse married to her patients. She kept secrets as if
love depended on it—heard confessions that could ruin
a hard-working family. Sleep with your husband, she’d
say in strict confidence, and no one was the wiser.

M.J. Iuppa's fourth poetry collection is This Thirst (Kelsay Books, 2017).For the past 30 years she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.
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