[The Reflection, Gustave Courbert, 1864]
O I been to Sayville. I went down
there with my little brother Jimmy
when I was fourteen. God, I can’t
believe that was fifty years ago! Daddy
still had his leg then, and did
he ever take good care of us. Mommy
never, I mean never was
so happy. She loved sittin’ on the porch singin’
to us–whew! what a sweet voice she had! She gave
us her time, you know, her
Not many mamas do that nowadays. Daddy
worked his butt off for her
and for us before he run up ains’ that scythe. Things
were different after that. Mommy stopped
sing’in and started
yellin’ and that’s when her mouth went
all dried appley and her eyes started
gettin’ closer together. I don’t remember
too many of the little things that happened. I just
sort of remember a color
like a mauve misty color
that changed to orange.
Not one hitch of grey in it, though.
Not that I mind grey.
Grey’s ok when it’s time for grey.
Grey’s strange though how it
creeps in and slips
on your head,
sort of like a halo.