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How it begins

April 30, 2012
tags: ,

My children

Are most difficult

On Mondays.

Shabby from the weekend

All shook up

Untethered and smelling of Saturday’s

Freedom.

 

When Monday comes

They writhe against compression

Against the litany of to-dos, necessities

Tidy, boxed-in requirements

Like laundry, bed-making, violin and piano.

 

They bang out their displeasure on taut strings

And butter knives

Boots and backpacks

 

Flying out the door

Toward an approaching yellow bus

I try to buoy us both up

To reassure them they are loved

That life is not so dire

That by Friday they will be familiar with this tune

And rhythm

 

That today is simply Monday

And we are all relearning

The stiffening march

Of the weekday.

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5 Comments
  1. lonigee permalink
    April 30, 2012 11:06 am

    Incredible writing. Absolutely wonderful.

  2. aliharkness79 permalink
    May 1, 2012 12:19 pm

    You’ve captured my Monday morning!

  3. Bruce Jacobs permalink
    May 1, 2012 1:38 pm

    Great poem, Tiffany.

  4. katlingee permalink
    May 3, 2012 3:39 pm

    Wonderful. And I think I’m still trying to march myself through the weekday. 🙂

  5. Vivienne Lewis permalink
    May 7, 2012 8:50 am

    Eloquent!

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