Mondays are not the kindest day of the week..
They can hold me accountable
for the entire weekend.
On Mondays..I’ve been known
to let my mind take flight
out of the nearest window;
it whooshes as it rushes
far from my desk and into the past.
It only flies in one direction..
backwards until it meets up
with you- know-who again…..
with you again.
I maintain a glass-eyed look
on my face, deeply focused
but really far far away,
from recessed lighting
and printers whirring.
When I shoot back into the past,
it is also daylight,
but natural, sun playing with clouds,
you playing with my scarf,
fixing unruly strands of hair peeking out
as we climb,
those steep cobblestone streets,
that once were ours to walk.
The town was ours and Mondays were
our sacred days… the very best.
For you would knock upon my door and say,
“Come on..there are errands to be run.”
Was work ever any sweeter..
than walking from store to store?
Dropping off and picking up…
hand and hand, everything striking us funny?
I loved you..how I loved every minute spent by your side.
I loved teasing you,
being teased by you,
laughing until we both were crying..
gasping to catch our breath.
The air was lighter, the shadows brighter,
your open-mouth laugh,
with your head thrown back..
I kissed you on your cheek,
and squeezed your hand to say,
“I love you” in every language I knew.
you come back to me, any night or any day,
you pull my head into the long ago, the no longer real,
the no longer possible.
Stamping your foot a little impatiently..
waiting in my open door,
Your beautiful coal black eyes, anime -size,
the smell of perfumed oils from Dubai,
incense embroidered in your clothes,
Your beautifully playful soft wry smile
“Come on, get your scarf on…. there are errands to be run.”
May 23, 2022