Tuesday and the Swamp Lady

“Love is a fire. But whether it’s going to warm your hearth or burn down your house you never can tell.”

Tuesday and the Swamp Lady

Here’s what I want you to know.

It went down like this:

Palm to palm is holy palmer’s kiss

But it was more than palms that sent Tuesday to the swamp lady’s door

Oh yes, so much more.

From her perch in a window

The swamp lady saw down into the streets

And on grasshopper legs goes dancing her way

This powder keg of a girl

They call her Tuesday

Oh Tuesday, now Tuesday
She had rhythm in her knees, in her elbows and her pockets
And her mama couldn't stop it

Oh honey, it was rhythm in her knees
It was pink lemonade and black-eyed peas

In rhythm and sugar, she was a black-eyed feast
So Tuesday, she came dancing down the street

With all the fireworks of a girl who has not been told that she can’t

Who has not been told that she isn’t

Who has not been told she ought to be kept down

So Tuesday whipped her braids around
Some slick young cat, he liked the sway of her back
So whistling at those swinging braids
He yowled and wound around her legs

Oh honey, it was cherries jubilee

It was stars and the moon, and black jellybeans

And what Tuesday grew, that’s between you and me

But her pockets were full of rhythm
Her mama said, “Don’t you do that dance
Bring trouble into my kitchen”

So Tuesday, she danced herself right onto the streets, right into the rain
Away from the feast, and right towards the pain

Cause that slick young cat who liked the sway of her back

Heard those songs as they were burgeoning out
And before a single song had left Tuesday’s mouth
He was a-running on his way south
Where, oh honey, birds fly in v’s,

Where it was sunny all the time, and there are tall palm trees
And not a single trace of those black-eyed peas

And no matter that Tuesday looked all around
She couldn’t find him, but oh yes she found

That her rhythm slowed down

As her belly grew round

And from the window, watching it all

Is the swamp lady, who puts palm to palm

Knowing it takes more than holy palmer’s kiss

So when Tuesday arrived at the door, she told her this:

Red swamp lady, call now to me, resound below the waterline

Belay my hands sweet sugar water for that man dark and leonine

Daytime mister, speak in whispers, fisherman’s knots work under my skin

Mossy vista, moon-eyed sister, into my fabric press round little pins

And with a purse full of herbs and home remedies

Swamp lady sent her home to tend her black-eyed peas

So some smears of blood later, Tuesday found out

Where once there was rhythm is now an empty pouch

And she knew she couldn’t stop it—she was empty as a pocket

Feast and famine come to us all

And the swamp lady’s ready to heed to that call

But what I want to ask, what I came here to say
Is what does it cost and are we ready to pay

Or do we push it off, for another Tuesday?