On Sundays we all went to church
where Captain would stand at his perch
to lead hymns, recite prayers and read sonnets
then ladies collected alms in black bonnets.
A big lady started attending
so big that when she was bending
her smock would rise up some six inches
and I’d watch for a glimpse of her britches.
She moved to the boarding house next door
only outcasts had roomed there before
yet I saw her as friendly and kind,
and of interest with her large behind.
Her room was across from our kitchen
where we ate and often had friction.
so close once I yelled where’s the scissors?
she replied, and the good lord delivers.
As she waved her scissors I felt dread
over what else she might have heard
there were things you’d hardly call godly
then I borrowed them to finish my dolly.
I don’t think she lived there that long
gone from church where she’d join us in song
then I asked maybe after a year
where’s that lady who used to live there?
I was told she was actually dead
it was suicide my mother had said
while I knew it was somehow illogical
I felt we were somewhat responsible.