A contoured villanelle using Kimiko Hahn’s “Villanelle with a Line Borrowed from Bishop”
 
I hated high school. I wanted to be out at the barn
with the goats and horses & away from her:
woman of gripes and guilt, bent over the stove.
 
Even if one of us offered to cook, she took to the stove,
stirring a pot, or kneading sourdough bread
while refusing our help, so I'd walk to the barn 
 
to saddle up, Lady, a gift when I was three
before I learned to scale rafters to the roof.  
Ever annoyed, Mom stuck to her stove.
 
I’d hum a song while sitting on the roof,   
daydream of being someone else’s daughter,
in a life that was far away from our barn:
 
country clubs, watching polo from the stands,
and shopping sprees on Rodeo Drive as
our hired chef worked at home, bent over the stove
 
preparing meals for the week ahead, but today 
we’re arguing again, even though I’m gone. This song
that I wish was a one hit wonder plays on repeat while                           
I wait for her call. She’ll berate me, hovering over the stove.