Throw Back?

It’s really funny I can’t but think
As I loiter over the kitchen sink;
The beautiful places I’d like to go
And the interesting people I’d like to know.
But here I stay and putter and grouse,
The typical wife … in the typical house.

Back in the shades of my family tree
There must have been dozens like dutiful me.

With only a Gypsy here and there
Who wouldn’t stay put; and couldn’t wear
Aprons and smocks like a uniform
A Gypsy who hungered for strife and storm,
And took to the road when she felt the urge,
Whose mate was a stranger to neat blue serge
Who made her bed on a bough or two
And slept far sweeter than housed things do.

Did I inherit this will to roam?
Or am I content with this small snug home?
I would have been happier spared the strain
Of Gipsy blood that fires my brain
So on nights when the wind gets out of hand
I wouldn’t be fey … and stare and stand
Athirst for a miracle wild and sweet
To shake the tradition out of my feet.

And suddenly you’re at the door, my dear
And I’m quite contented to stay right here.


© Mona McTavish Gould
This poem is covered by a Creative Commons Canada Attribution No-Derivatives Licence. It may be shared freely, but please quote accurately and acknowledge the author each time the poem is used.