The Poor Soul

The Irish have a construct 

called the "poor soul."

Uncle Andy an oil delivery man would come home

for lunch every day.

Slathering mustard on his bologna or ham

sandwich with oil stained hands, he'd

punctuate his poor soul stories with huge bites 

of layered sandwich-lettuce, tomato, onion, 

and great gulps of tea

Mrs. Kidney broke her hip, poor soul.

Mr. Bigelow's boy was killed in a car accident, poor soul.

The father or the son you might ask. I think we have to include both.

Paper plant is laying men off, Joe Doyle lost his job, poor soul...

him with ten kids

So, it would go.

Andy has been gone for a long time.

Today I am feeling unwell and I have taken to

wondering what does one do when your soul is poor?

It has the same mindset as Julia Cameron's artist date.

What do you do to heal?

My list:

I knit.

I buy milk for my tea and gingersnaps.

(Cookies and milk don't usually inhabit my grocery list.)

I read poetry and recite Frances mantras: "Don't get in way of my talking."

And ask:

What do you do to heal your soul?