i have to spare a moment for maureenwho bought a junkyard truck for a dollarput a gun in the glove box andgot the hell out of lawrencewho landed on Venice beachwho took night shifts at a women’s prisonand found herself an honorary inmatemaureen who came to my weddingin nana’s backyardwho paused her road trip to witnessa wedding that would not be possiblewhen she bought a truck for a dollarand drove until she landedthree or fourthousand miles away at Venice beachmaureen who
nana said if she had waitedto have children untilshe could afford them she wouldneverhave had childrenand the same goes formy motherand hersnana said when the millsfinally closedher mother worked whatever jobsshe could findcooking cleaning pieceworkuntil she managed to go to nursing schoolnana said once her motherwas a fully trained nurse
speakif the spirit moves youholler if it possesses youand won’t let gocry outif you are all-consumedi will understand if you are silenti have hardly spoken myselfthese long monthsever since we stopped scryingfor a second pink linethe sun slips fastacross the sky the nightspass reluctantly the radiatorshiss our childrestless within stretches and squirms
Consulting summer's clock,But half the hours remain.I ascertain it with a shock --I shall not look again.The second half of joyIs shorter than the first.The truth I do not dare to knowI muffle with a jest.
The frog half fearful jumps across the path,And little mouse that leaves its hole at eveNimbles with timid dread beneath the swath;My rustling steps awhile their joys deceive,Till past,--and then the cricket sings more strong,And grasshoppers in merry moods still wearThe short night weary with their fretting song.Up from behind the molehill jumps the hare,Cheat of his chosen bed, and from the bankThe yellowhammer flutters in short fearsFrom off its nest hid in the grasses rank,And drops again when no more noise it hears.Thus nature's human link and endless thrall,Proud man, still seems the enemy of all.
The Winters are so short --I'm hardly justifiedIn sending all the Birds away --And moving into Pod --Myself -- for scarcely settled --The Phoebes have begun --And then -- it's time to strike my Tent --And open House -- again --It's mostly, interruptions --My Summer -- is despoiled --Because there was a Winter -- once --And al the Cattle -- starved --And so there was a Deluge --And swept the World away --But Ararat's a Legend -- now --And no one credits Noah --