Monday, June 27, 2011

That Wednesday

That Wednesday

will mark all other Wednesdays.
That prosaic middle day

between our past
and all the days to come.

The exigency of the living carried on
while we were enveloped in

the sudden beauty and stink of the lilies,
in baskets and baskets of sorrow.

Now we speak to him in the day,
at night, in his room of earthly things.

We speak softly to each other
until we lose our words,

until there is nothing left
unfinished between us.

We wonder about his unexpected journey
to a place we do not understand.


Rob-bear said...

And when you wake
will it still be Wednesday,
or will Thursday
have usurped its
predecessor's lofty

John Allen Richter said...

I so wish blogger would add a "Like" button. Because I really like your poem, "That Wednesday," but I don't always feel it pertinent to write to strangers. How beautifully you put the emotion of losing someone special, though. And you quoted Mark Twain in your most recent poem, which just earned you a lot of points with me, his biggest fan. Diane you are quite talented and I am glad that I found you. -