In a cooking class
students make banana pudding

I watch from the sidelines
imagining the soccer mom
I will someday be

The atmosphere of a slumber party settles in
giggling and turn taking

I ask if they like baking
Someone says she loves to bake cake
but that’s only if her mother gets food stamps

Others nod along
I will my facial muscles
to conceal any sort of pity

There is excitement in her voice
There is hope