Familiars

I met Lydia when I needed a friend She was always quiet, and hid under the bed I learned how to watch what would happen from her. I was always happy to see a familiar face Coming through the door or window frame Never to stay for long, just to let me know she was there Babs died and at Thanksgiving Harriett told me About her closest friend of twenty three Who I would always be two years older for Every year I lived, I heard the voices Of the women and the familiars Who watched after me with care.