Thursday you've finally arrived
Work is over and I'm ready to imbibe

You've become my favorite day of week
Most of my jobs done and giving Saturday a wink

Late enough in the week to relax a little more
While Friday's shadow lurks closely under the door

Early enough to fantasize about Sunday
Yet still so far away from Monday

Pour me a glass, or two or three
Unplug my brain and help me let it be

Since I only have one more day of work
Will one more hour really hurt?

So sweet Thursday you may not be part of the weekend
But since the quarantine, it's upon you I've come to depend

“The conflict at the moment,
Is you're literally,
One tweet away,
From the market being down,
5 per cent.”

I don't know
If I'm just
Too afraid
To let you go
Because you're
Someone familiar
Or if
I truly can't
Let you go
Because I'm still
So very in love
With everything you are
But either way
You're breaking my heart
By not loving me back
By not wanting me
By leaving me so cold
And I never thought
That being in love
Would hurt so much

Wretched voice
Boxed so thin
Rubbed-raw noise
Sandpaper skin
Beaten crest
Lasts for years
Naked nest
November tears
The season’s stall
Before the laughs
The worst of all
The ugly path
A sun burned green
I waste away
While they all wait
For bright Friday.

I stretch out Thursday afternoon
until it is see-through at the edges.
I talked to so many people today
and all of them chanted: go west
but maybe that’s not what’s best for me.
Down south is crawling with ***** whispers
and I want to pull them out of the ground
and rinse them clean. Like vegetables
spread out on the kitchen table
in late September: orange and purple
and the scent of soil heavy
by the open windows.

At my aunt’s house,
as a kid, the mudroom was my favorite place -
transition point between low-ceilinged
dark and quiet inside space
and the impossible Vermont sky,
the chickens and the garden
and grass that sloped down to a valley
the size of my child fist. Sometimes in the evening
we’d see coyotes creep from the shadows
of the trees down below, or hear the foxes cry.
We would hike up the gravel road
and climb the mountain before the sun set,
scramble back down in the dusk.
I wish I remembered more
than just picking grass and slowly
splitting it into strips, to learn the way
my hands were capable of deconstructing.
But it came in useful later,
when we went into the woods
to strip the birch trees of their bark:
the best kindling for fire.

So smoke rises and chases us.
To keep the smoke away,
my aunt says, you have to think
about white rabbits. Little
does she know - my ideas
are always half-baked or burnt.
Never the way they should be.
So I do what I think I hear her say –
and I think about white rabbits,
covered in mud.

All it took was one push to cause me to fall...


But all it took was for me to fall for me to know that I could fly.

Monday
Oh how I dread you
Can you just go away for one more day

Tuesday
You could be anything or nothing at all
You're just Tuesday

Wednesday
**** DAY
I finally get to look forward to the weekend

Thursday
The day before Friday
Anything could happen, but it wouldn't count

Friday
The most annoying day because of Rebecca Black
But it means we have 2 days of no *******

Saturday
Thank you for no school
But sadly you go by too fast

Sunday
Ruined because you know tomorrow is Monday
The one day I remember to do my homework