The Day She Never Saw the Weather
(for Jan, 1951-1976)
That day, she never saw the weather,
nor heard her husband say
I’ve left your eggs in the frying pan.
Don’t forget to feed your animals.
She pulled on one sock under her nightgown
and, looking for the other,
nibbled a handful of spaghetti
from the fridge.
That day, she never saw
the weather friendly at the window
the house they were paying off was far
too large and cold,
and she was twenty-five years old,
and looking for the other sock,
chewed one by one (and didn’t read the label)
a handful of pills,
felt at her ankle
Dog’s and Cat’s mealtime affection
so they all went
into the closet to find
Teddy Bear (she was saving him all this time)
and the one-eyed doll
packed an egg-and-spaghetti picnic
in the wastebasket,
remembered the ketchup.
She gathered them all into the little yellow
Rabbit in the garage,
whatever the weather,
started the motor,
and they all