She's in a band and her look is floral dresses,
she's known for being small but big,
or some years big but small.
Her voice has a whisper, an erratic cuteness,
it troubles her to think it's all about the words.
She's in a band and they make 80's music
with all authentic instruments, and homemade shakers.
It's her and the men and they all married elsewhere,
preferring their children to have thicker legs.
She likes to believe her life is not just about the songs,
but without her she knows no one would be eating,
or loving their children as much as she tells them to.
She's in a band, or was at one time,
but now she's older and the children so demanding.
There's a little jewellery box she keeps by the bed,
full of concert tickets, bits of leather jackets,
phone numbers on cards. Every so often she might let
her eldest daughter take a look, turning things in her
small fingers, not knowing the full memory.
No one hears her sing these days, and the kids don't
learn to play instruments, they're not into it.
She prefers no music now but open windows:
birdsong, buses, the daily shuffle.