I woke up one morning and the words "The Septemberist" were in my head. Later that day while washing the dishes a definition came to me. "A Septemberist: One who eagerly awaits the beginning of the end." Still no idea how to turn that into anything, I shelved it for a couple days. Then I went to the bookstore, got some coffee and was just looking around. Instantly, the poem--fully formed-- popped into my head. I tried to write more and it was terrible. So I stuck with the magical words that were inserted into my brain. If the mother looks familiar, it's because it's Susan B. Anthony. I wanted a really ugly woman for the mother and she fit the bill.