Saturday Sweet

Last Saturday was relatively nice.
She didn’t criticize or “should,” the way
she has for ages. I heard no advice
last Saturday.

And that was why my heart began to sway
to softness. My defenses then were ice
exposed to summer sunlight’s noon display.

The time I spent did not exact a price
that I could not afford – my sole dismay
anticipated grief, to be precise,
last Saturday.


This entry was posted in Aging, Family, Love, Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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