Some Other Day
Preserve me from the occupational therapist, God.
She means well, but I'm too busy to make baskets.
I want to relive a day in July, when Sam and I went berrying.
I was eighteen, my hair was long and thick
And I braided it and wound it round my head,
So it wouldn't get caught on the briars.
But when we sat down in the shade to rest
I unpinned it and it came tumbling down, and Sam proposed.
I suppose it wasn't fair to use my hair to make him fall in love with me,
But it turned out to be a good marriage......
Oh, here she comes, the therapist with scissors and paste.
Would I like to try decoupage? "No", I say, "I haven't got time".
"Nonsense"; she says, "you're going to live a long long time"
That's not what I mean, I mean that all my life l've been doing things
For people, with people.
I have to catch up on my thinking and feeling.
About Sam's death, for one thing
Close to the end, I asked if there was anything I could do.....
He said: "Yes! Unpin your hair"
I said: "Oh Sam. It's so thin now and grey".
"Please, he said, "unpin it anyway".
I did and he reached out his hand -
The skin transparent, I could see the blue veins -
And stroked my hair. If I close my eyes, I can feel it, Sam.
"Please open your eyes", the therapist says:
"You don't want to sleep the day away".
She wants to know what I used to do: "Knit? Crochet?"
Yes, I did those things, and cooked and cleaned and raised five children,
And had bad things happen to me. Beautiful things, terrible things.
I need to think about them,
Arrange them on the shelves of my mind.
The therapist is showing me glittery beads.
She asks if I might like to make jewellery.
She's a dear child. And means well,
So I tell her I might.
Some other Day
