Skip to main content

What Next?

ISSUE:  Winter 1992
The baby carriage was old, one wheel lopsided,
its metalwork rusty. The child, prone on its back,
slept covered by clean blankets deep within,
and at the woman’s side, holding on
to the carriage handle, stood another child,
chubby and older by one year, its leggings
warm looking.

The woman herself wore no hat,
her tan coat plain—a small person
with no visible expression of perplexity
or grief, though it was a lined face.
She stood outside the butcher shop,
looking in either direction. Bags piled up
inside the carriage at the child’s feet
showed she was finished with this task.
What next seemed to be the question
as she stood still. What next?


This question is for testing whether or not you are a human visitor and to prevent automated spam submissions.

Recommended Reading