Maumee Ruth is an elegy for an old woman whose death barely ripples the world around her. The speaker’s repeated “might as well” sounds less cruel than exhausted: since her life was hard and those she cared for are gone or lost, the kindest thing is to bury her deep and let her sleep. Maum Sal may miss having someone to scoff with, but nobody else is left to notice the rocky road she traveled. The children she nursed have vanished into city life—one hiding with cocaine, one drunk in Harlem—too far gone to come home or hear the news. Instead of false comfort about heaven, the speaker hopes only that she rests. The mood is weary, tender, and quietly bitter about how easily such a life is forgotten.
Maumee Ruth — Summary
Might as well bury her And bury her deep, Might as well put her Where she can sleep.
Might as well lay her Out in her shiny black; And for the love of God Not wish her back.
Maum Sal may miss her Maum Sal, she only With no one now to scoff Sal may be lonely....
Nobody else there is Who will be caring How rocky was the road For her wayfaring;
Nobody be heeding in Cabin, or town That she is lying here In her best gown.
Boy that she suckled How should he know Hiding in city holes Sniffing the ‘snow’?
And how should the news Pierce Harlem’s din To reach her baby gal, Sodden with gin?
To cut her withered heart They cannot come again, Preach her the lies about Jordan and then
Might as well drop her Deep in the ground Might as well pray for her That she sleep sound....