Work II

I learned from my parents
too much work, working too hard,
there was not the ease of saying:
how are you, very tired?  how
did you sleep, do you need rest,
food?  I only remember the sense
that work was good, a working
life was the only choice:  no
wife no child.  It was a
senseless lesson, my father
died young, never saw retired
hours to please himself.  My
bereft mother chose a new
location and did what she had
always done:  kept the home.
I have worked too hard in my life
not had the space, the room
for lying on my bed, for ease.
Late in life I have it and am
bewildered by the luxury of a
golden gift I have not yet
learned the use of.  I work at it.

One Year Round The Sun
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