Days

 

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The consequence of Wednesdays

Parented by Tuesdays

Enchained in turn by Thursdays

That parse our times and lives

Assigns the rigid order

To package star events

That nestle in our minds

And join to make us whole.

 

Birthdays and deathdays

Stand resolutely planted

In foundations of our soul,

The anchors of the scaffold of our thought.

From these string ropes of continuity,

Hang bright colors out of gay events

Suspend black rags of tragedy

So that we run, along these lines,

The finger of our memory

To say,”Thus it was, and how.” And wonder why.

 

Over morning coffee, our ruminations push

And shake the rigid past, the bottom line

That says who we were and are and why it came that way

Because one scalpel minute, one fractured second

Of one assassin day.

 

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