Everyday Oblivion

Monday
Rusty scissors in clumsy hands.
A ponderance somewhere.
A body of water, something
resting at the bottom.

Tuesday
A spark skitters under a cabinet.
Rundown and overgrown, I try
to resurrect the days I wasn’t there,
but can’t get into character.
I mow the lawn,
something more me.

Wednesday
I am just scenery,
a lagniappe to the passengers
passing through. One spoon
of the vast bouillabaisse.

Thursday
A jumble of complicated consequences unfurls.
I juggle emotional leakages, emerge
from the fetal position, tie somewhat askew.

Friday
In my doorway
a desert woman with river hair appears.
I feel lucky for a moment.

Saturday
Pancakes on the griddle,
car horns and confetti,
a terrier nudging the crack in the fence,
a cleanup on aisle four.

Sunday
A breeze. Quiet ease.
A cup of kisses up to our lips.
The pum pum pum
of distant drums.