On a January Friday, I thought "Days" would be particularly appropriate.
by Billy Collins
Each one is a gift, no doubt,
mysteriously placed in your waking hand
or set upon your forehead
moments before you open your eyes.
Today begins cold and bright,
the ground heavy with snow
and the thick masonry of ice,
the sun glinting off the turrets of clouds.
Through the calm eye of the window
everything is in its place
but so precariously
this day might be resting somehow
on the one before it,
all the days of the past stacked high
like the impossible tower of dishes
entertainers used to build on stage.
No wonder you find yourself
perched on the top of a tall ladder
hoping to add one more.
Just another Wednesday
then holding your breath,
place this cup on yesterday's saucer
without the slightest clink.
From The Art of Drowning.
It's always good, when you're balancing on a ladder, to have someone standing below to catch you!
Rung OutTabatha Yeatts: The Opposite of Indifference is where you'll find the Poetry Friday Round-Up for this week.
s t r e t c h i n g
I come down
a spent bulb
in your open palm
while your other
hand, at last,
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
Photo by elycefeliz.