dusk settling all around me
wild animals knowing hope in flight ascend
my humanness lost in waves
I don’t do it like that, she said, you aren’t listening, you never get it right
I do it the way I do it… letting her talk on, glad she lives yet another night
you are really something says he, I am so excited to have found you, what odds!
public meeting never possible, wife in house while he prowls internet broads
if you run out of money what will you do, I can’t think so far ahead I tell my friend
unfamiliar with ever making do, stretching pennies you do not have until they bend
I need a new bra today because the wires in my last good white bra poke sharp
groceries, gas and medicine must wait, tiny fabric costs ten times a canvas tarp
people who live in glass churches should never judge another
happen the whore who washes the feet somebody’s kind mother
barren perhaps but not a birth required for helping needy guest
mothers we are all called to be, some a little more, others less
I don’t even know what stage of life I am at, said she.
Nor do I, but I don’t think the stage matters so much as the quality of life, I don’t know where I am either but it’s okay because I know where I’m not.
Yes, she said, that’s right. It was a lovely afternoon of flower and seed planting with me, 35 years her junior more able, mothering my friend.
Life always seems to improve when I contemplate the alternative.
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