I miss the old days
when I didn’t know better
when I didn’t need anybody
when Worldy Goods could be packed
in a back seat in half an hour
and only old people died
and then, at the end of their life.
Freedom’s wage weighed
on a food scale in ounces,
and I water flowers like
it means something.
Go lightly, write, pray.
We’re all Lula Mae Barnes
with four children from another woman
married at fourteen to a cracker jack
horse doctor whose heart we broke.
We never had no cause to leave,
but we did. And we’d do it again.