When the title, 'Mrs.', was conferred, her emotion
Was interred beneath a three-layered confection.
Whatever self she imagined
smothered beneath a blanket of giving she prepared for him.
Practicing, 'yesses', 'of courses', 'you're right dears' and assorted subservient addresses
she readied her capacity for oneness,
She is old. Nothing's new.
Now borrowing blue skies from her children
She keeps a penny in her shoe for luck.