Welcome to Quadrant Online | Login/ Register Cart (0) $0 View Cart
Menu
January 01st 2009 print

Philippa Martyr

Saturdays

On Saturdays I breathe my losses Through a square of purple silk

On Saturdays I breathe my losses

Through a square of purple silk—

God awaiting, always hoping,

Gives me honey, gives me milk.

On Saturdays I peg the washing

All along the blistered line—

Lunch consists of bread and butter,

Pickled onions and white wine.

On Saturdays I retire early

Curled beneath an afghan rug—

Reading racy worn-out novels,

Drinking cocoa from the jug.