"Miss Lucille"
1. All Saint's
she had long since
stopped living
on bird time
ignoring the coming
the going those
few who stayed
behind she kept
to her own earth bent
far too low sometimes
to notice night stumbling
upon her tiny unfenced garden
when she could no longer see
what was growing in her
hands she just felt her way
among the steady weeds
pulling what felt too long
to be greens too short
to be despair
she preserved it all
in jars of vinegar
or placed it deep
in the icebox who could afford
what bloomed out of season
her fists only knew how quickly
the children grew tired
of the rhubarb that winter
often bring
so she picked and pickled
and put away whatever it was
she thought to save working on
by sickled moons she swore
there was a man up there
somewhere and that's why
they kept disappearing
2. Labor Day
She had dropped enough
spoons in her time to know
she was in a family
way. Who needed a doctor
when the metal said it all?
She cursed its silver belly
curled up on the floor, her man
just three days dead & already
giving her another mouth
to fill. No hands to help. Why
leave her another life
to look after when he couldn't
mind his own? But the spoon
just sat there, too dull to see
herself in, too shiny
empty to ignore.
—Kevin Young