Old Mama Saturday

“Saturday’s child must work for a living.”

“I’m moving from Grief  Street.

Taxes are high here.

though the mortgage’s cheap.

The house is well-built.

With stuff to protect, that

mattered to me,

the security.

These things that I mind,

You know, they aren’t mine.

I mind minding them.

They weigh on my mind.

I don’t mind them well.

I haven’t got the knack.

of  kindly minding.

I say take them back.

but you never do.

When I throw them out,

It may frighten you.

and maybe me too.

Maybe

It will empty me.

too emptily

and keep me here.

asleep, at sea

Under the guilt quilt,

under the tree.”

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