My Ease

The sun pours down
burning my face and arms,
my washing floats in the
gentle breeze - I think
of my mother and feel
the familiar ache in my gut:
I long to speak with her
and tell her all my lack
and all my hurt and
all the good things, but the
box is hard shut
and her soul had wings -
is long gone away
to other duty - she
did not see me manage
to return here, mistress
of my own space and time -
I think she would be pleased,
she'd say 'now you can
take it easy, sit down'
and I would do it:
I would take my ease.

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