there's a calendar
on my bedroom wall.
pages gone yellow,
its corners turn to sand
if you pull too hard
or look at it long enough.
there's no sticky notes,
no hurried scrawls,
not since long ago.
i merely cross out the days
with a wavering hand,
the elephant in my chest
easing with each passing day.
there will be new notes,
new scrawls,
new things to come,
days won't be crossed out
no more.
but not just yet,
not for today.
for now,
i let the corners
turn to sand
and draw a cross
with unsteady hands.