She Spent Her Life
She spent her life trying to please,
Trying to outguess,
Tiptoeing around his bad moods,
Trying not to make him mad,
Trying to make him happy,
Trying to make things better
Because he’d had a rough start.
Because she loved him.
Because she cared.
“He says,” and “He thinks,” she would say.
But what do you think? We would ask her.
“He thinks I think,” she would respond.
“But what do you think?”
The feelings she had were not her own.
They were his.
She had spent her life giving all.
In the end she had a beautiful casket with pink lining.
“What do you think?” I asked her daughter. “Would she like it?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “Ask my dad.”
“How are you doing?” I asked her.
“She’s fine,” he replied.
She looked away,
Out the window.
Possibly thinking?
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