6/1

my mother Anne was born on June 1st.

she lived a long life and in her youth,

as far as I can determine from the record,

was always active within a large circle of friends

but I should add that when she was old and even dying,

she was never alone or afraid.

maybe life spins from the middle and moves outward.

friends, family, lovers, and one husband,

William,–– mates for life, like Gentoo penguins
or mayflies, although in the case of mayflies
it might be because there simply isn't enough time.

as for the “lovers” of her youth, what I’m guessing is,

what it is I wish to be true is:

that my classification here expands the definition

of the word “lover”––

but is limited to the boys and very young men

who “liked” her and she “liked” them back

and that’s reason enough for inclusion on the list

scribed under the heading of: “lovers”

and I imagine now what the fortunate boys

and very young pre-William men must have felt

at the moment of the immediate and penetrating

jolt of heat and excitement and wonder

when a girlfriend of hers might have leaned-in

to whisper in their ears:––– “Annie likes you”.

....anyway, this is the simple poem

I wanted to write about her today.