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Lucy Wainwright Roche
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Take What You're Given
Seven Sundays late for front steps
Sitting warm in the midday block
Little bare feet, dirty forehead
I can see where your train will stop
At the point of several mountains
Sold from one to another tribe
Just a basket baby waiting
Towering at only three feet high
I know 'take what you're given'
I know 'seen and not heard'
You left me buckets of ribbons
Woven together by flying birds
Me and you crept on for hours
Right behind the big blue house
All the roots of all her flowers
So to feed all our creatures' mouths
She cried, 'What have you done here?
You girls are the devil's kind!'
I can't run any faster
Leaving all the battles behind
After dinner, kitchen quiet
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Hot air from the dishes washed
Just a sink light buzzing brightly
In the front room, TV on
I know 'take what you're given'
I know 'seen and not heard'
You left me buckets of ribbons
Woven together by flying birds
And the church sings hallelujah
When you're sitting still and right
Peering just between two shoulders
Trying to see what the priest looks like
I know and also have you
I know all things were made
Lift me to heavier water
Just in case I can be saved
I will wait here one last morning
Shield my eyes to the blazing sun
If I scan the streets for warning
I can see when your train will come
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