I am nothing but a spoiled housewife with a dirty house
Children barely fed and clothed, 

They wear shorts in the winter 
And I let them out.

They stay up past midnight when I am tucked in my bed.
I am really not so good at this
And that is what I dread,

This is not a delusion.
I see it waking clear.
And yet sometimes it is deceptive
What is really there

The gift of time.
The gift of money 
The bills are all paid.
How fortunate I am!
How precarious this situation?
How fragile the ground where I stand?

And underneath the surface
The calm exterior
The water it is churning 
Brimming and is full.

A seething thing
A seer and A sayer.
Trying to be born.