| My skinny days, my heavy nights — | 
| A blue blue room, up three flights — | 
| She waves and turns from the window to her boy | 
| The band is through, the wedding gown | 
| Is one more flag that’s coming down | 
| The sun is rising like a bomb over Illinois | 
| My heavy nights, my skinny days — | 
| The way she tends her secret place | 
| While uncles gather in the parlor thick with smoke | 
| Cousin Lou is in the hay — | 
| They say she knows how to play | 
| The game of love, and her guitar with two strings broke | 
| Out on the beach beneath a towel | 
| They fall asleep until the howl | 
| Of wind and wave wake them up and they catch the last commuter train | 
| Her skinny days and her family | 
| Have stripped her down for all to see | 
| But her big mouth could drink them all like summer drinks the rain | 
| She put her ring in her underwear drawer | 
| While the world tumbled from war to war | 
| There was a box full of gifts to be returned | 
| She grew her garden, mostly wild | 
| And walked for miles and raised her child | 
| She kept her cool, but after midnight she burned | 
| I told the tale. | 
| I walked the line | 
| In Michigan, into the pines | 
| I made a camp, I built a fire, I loved myself | 
| And skinny days have gained some weight | 
| And wasting time keeps me up late | 
| I’m sending you this book of pictures, for your shelf |