Seven days is a hefty thing
Eight days ago - it was a blur,
weightless, mindless, less
than a thing.
When you tilt the boxes
of the calendar with expectations
you slide off the slope
of hope so quickly.
You check off your disappointment
all at once
because you forgot to cross out
Tuesday
and Wednesday
when the time was right.
You can’t just leave those days
blank - unmarked, visibly forgotten.
So you cross out each
in succession, slowly
until the action becomes meaningless.
By the time you reach Friday
the sharpie is running dry.
You look at the rest of the days
yet to be filled -
next week, and the Sunday after that
and oh, there’s no 31st this February.
Thank God.
One less day to fill, one less
cramp in your aging hand.
Your life is an unmarked checklist
that you find in a drawer
a leap year from now
and think
I could have used this.
