Until She Left

Every time Maggie came home from medical school,
the refrigerated hummed, filled with milk, eggs and orange juice,
the cupboards could barely contain themselves, stuffed
with all the fixings for Mom’s famous lasagna.
Mom and Dad made a silent truce
not to argue over the latest bounced check.
Sometimes their ceasefire would extend to holding hands
or Dad opening and closing the passenger side door.
I would rush home after my last class
to finish homework and chores
before Mom could bug me about it.
Maggie and I would trade every girly detail of our lives before dinner
Even our older brother, Mike, would crawl out from under his girlfriend
long enough to eat with us, then chauffeur us around town
– to the mall or movies or wherever it was we wanted to go
just like he used to do when we were all just kids.
Our family was whole again – until she left
and our normal lives broke loose.