even seem to realize Frank isn’t here. Muriel’s father makes a joke

to mine about turning us into boys while Frank is away.

Even as we figure out who will do what, we

hold his place open, however we can.

Rocking / Muriel

Rocking

Muriel

The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that

rules the world, Mama says, by which she means

I should be content to learn the women’s work

that she and Mrs. Norman do so smoothly

anyone would think there’s nothing to it—

until a day like today when I almost burn

the house down making eleven pints

of strawberry jam—how should I know

paraffin can catch fire so easily?

I ignore my burning hand and rush to the creek

for a bucket of cold water—only to discover that water

fans the flames instead of putting out this kind of fire.

I’m never going to get married! Never! I burst out.

Mama tries to quiet me: No one’s talking

about marriage. Calm down, Muriel—all’s well

that ends well. It’s a good thing it happened

on a Saturday when I’m at home. She thinks

I can be soothed and smothered,

like the fire she extinguishes so quickly,

so competently, it doesn’t even burn the blanket

she puts over it—where did Mama learn to do that?

She smiles her sweetest, most infuriating smile

as she wraps a bandage around my blistered hand.

Women influence the world in quiet ways,

she says. We keep peace in our families, and

raise our children to be decent, honest people.

Decent. Honest. (Frank)

But what good does that do, I argue, if your

decent, honest children are sent off to fight

and maybe die in a war someone else

started, and all the girls and mothers

in America have no way of stopping?

She holds my bandaged hand, pushes

a strand of hair from my flushed face.

I don’t know the answer to that question,

she finally admits. She studies me:

Maybe you won’t rock a cradle, Muriel.

Some women seem to prefer to rock the boat.

She speaks gently, thoughtfully; there’s truth

in what she sees and says. But her words sting

like yellow jackets flying from a nest I don’t

know is there until I step right into it.

Geranium / Ollie

Geranium

Ollie

Will Emma write to me? I can’t ask

because I’m not saying goodbye to anyone.

They’ll all know, by this time tomorrow, that I’ve

left home to catch the train to Kansas for basic training.

What will Pa do when he finds out I enlisted, underage? I

think it’s better not to tell him. Grace asks, Why are you

being so nice to me now, Ollie? I’ve been spending all my

free time finishing her playhouse. Emma hung new

pink curtains in the windows. Now she holds the