all mothers

And we were all mothers
In a town a little farther on
But here we were chipped voices
Chipped old mugs
Patient in the sunshine

A lot of somethings
Tickled us to stay and stay
And trade in our beaded beauty
For the strange delinquent pride
Of counted values

And we were all sultanas
In a life a little bit ago
But here we were edited chapters
Edited papyrus
Waiting to be found

Some kind of nothingness
Wiped away all those secrets
As we took off our shoes,
Made ourselves comfortable
(as we could be)
In hell

I think once we were gardeners
Or something quite like it
I think we knew how to sing
In those days