There are so many of us in [Philadelphia]
We’re the ones in bed early
With mud masks on our faces
And dozens of unused candles around the room
Hypnotized, we dive into potatoe chip bags and keep eating
Until Ted Koppel’s finished talking about whatever he’s talking about
Birthday’s aren’t a big deal
We try not to make a fuss because
Every year we get closer to 30,
Closer to not having, never having
The husband and baby we swore we’d have by now
We organize our closets, make pesto, hem skirts, and read. A lot.
We have rented every goddamn movie at Block Buster
We walk by the Baby Gap and get a pain in our chests
We start looking at our best friends and think, Hey, why not? At least I know what she likes in bed
We know how to make good chili
But it always tastes funny
When we eat it alone
We sneeze and there is no one to say “Bless us.”
The hardest part is the music,
The songs that pour out of elevators and taxis
With voices that crawl between our ears and say,
“This one’s about you babe.
This one’s all about you.”
– Nicole Blackman


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