daughter (Chicago)my face in your bathtowellemon verbena body washafter you left yesterdaytoday I wrap my foreheadin a streakycloud skyabove the jakuzzi lakethe remote control airplanenose-up glidesacross the blue pondlike you an aching day agopallas athena gone againto new york citymy mind travelscomes and goescomes and goestakes off, banks, returnsI shower, wash my hairwith your pantene blondeexpressions shampoo,the shimmering glowof the pink satin jacketyou wore over that delicatecamisole yet your plebian jeansat our boxing day partyyou’d let me hold your handwhile we shopped in the afternoon(just a spacing error in your e-maillooks like a poem to me)which button are you pressing nowin your cyberworld:cellphonepalm-pilotkeyboardyour tapered fingers, minerva nailsempty room, tiger-eye floorboards don’t blinklunch with RuthI saw you glance at the No Smoking signat lunch today while I was talking. Onlya second passed while your blue eyesflitted to the wall, but I saw you. In thatalmost imperceptible sideways flick ofthe eyes, I thought, “Oh, maybe I’ve missedsomething, a poster of the Aegean Sea or acatchy quote;” we weren’t seated by a windowto be distracted by a passing bicycle or pedestrian,just sandwiched up against a wall; but, no,it was only a No Smoking sign.Jan Ball taught ESL at DePaul University in Chicago. Since she started submitting poems for publication in 1998, 177 of her poems have been published in journals such as: Atlanta Review, Calyx, Connecticut Review, Mid-America Review, Nimrod and Verse Wisconsin. Jan has published her two chapbooks: accompanying spouse (2011) and Chapter of Faults (2014) with Finishing Line Press. They are available on Amazon. Jan is a member of the Poetry Club of Chicago. Besides writing poetry, Jan wrote a dissertation at the University of Rochester in 1996: Age and Natural Order in Second Language Acquisition. When not writing, working out or gardening at the family farm, Jan and her husband travel and like to cook for friends.