She sewed and worked a garden,
did the dishes all by hand;
her wiggling giggling kids
would straighten up at her command.
Her leftovers were loved as much
as was the chocolate cake
she drizzled with that special sauce
she always used to make.
Today they’d call her backwards,
but we knew perfectly
that all SHE’D ever wanted
Was what she came to be.
By Andrea Dietrich
For Michael Smith's THE PERFECT WOMAN Poetry contest