You say don’t ever marry a man.
If only you had your life to live all over.
You say isn’t the moon lovely,
you never knew it could be so bright.
You say you need air.
We see golden lamp-lit sitting rooms,
hear cats yowl ghostly in farmyards.
You mop your face with a hanky.
You say a man’s heart is his own. It’s
the way they are, spoiled by mothers.
Narrow weasels and humped rats cross our path.
You say all sorts of things.
You blow your nose.
We bless ourselves passing the graveyard.
If I hadn’t had kids.
If only I could drive.
If there were more chances for us.
You say you need air.
You say don’t ever marry a man.
You say you’ll know soon enough.
We see trees’ lace patterns tremble on the road.
Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.
Mind your education.
Stay away from them.
Keep yourself pure.
You say all sorts of things.
Photo by Morris Creedon-McVean
