Sunday, October 7, 2018

A Single Day (Day 627)


A.M.
Rain.
Steady.
The sky, that
deep, sighing gray.
Remembering when
weather made no difference,
when our lives shone like late June.
Lightbulb sun, liquid energy.
Plotting my hours: Dickensian days,
distracting myself from that ticking clock,
the calendar, devoid of the plans we’d made.
Silver lining—my novel is growing like weeds.

P.M.
Dusk.
Welcome
as a bath,
a wool blanket,
in which I can hide.
My day? Quiet. And yours?
It’s the small talk I miss most.
And the laughter. Serious now,
arrested by my own reflection.
Who’s this woman? Does she never sparkle?
So, I’m sending you a smile—the one I wore 
when we first met—lest my frozen lips forget how. 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Frances Benjamin Johnston