She washed their faces and small hands
combed their hair, dressed them in their
finest clothes, sat her three young children
at the kitchen table while she washed and
changed the baby. But it was the other
baby she thought of, the one she shouldn’t
know about, her husband’s bastard son.
She put the baby in his high chair and
sat with her four children.
She told them she loved them, asked that
they close their eyes tight and imagine angels
dancing in the starry sky. They were obedient
children. Only the baby watched when she
opened the oven and turned on the gas.
Eileen Van Hook’s work has been published in various anthologies and literary journal. She has been recognized in several contests and is a three-time Pushcart Prize Nominee. Eileen lives and writes in the wilds of northwestern New Jersey.
