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.