"Days" by Billy Collins
Each one is a gift, no doubt,
mysteriously placed in your waking hand
or set upon your forehead
moments before you open your eyes.
Today begins cold and bright,
the ground heavy with snow
and the thick masonry of ice,
the sun glinting off the turrets of clouds.
Through the calm eye of the window
everything in its place
but so precariously
this day might be resting somehow
on the one before it,
all the days of the past stacked high
like the impossible tower of dishes
entertainers used to build on stage.
No wonder you find yourself
perched on the top of a tall ladder
hoping to add one more.
Just another Wednesday,
you whisper,
then holding your breath,
place this cup on yesterday's saucer
without the slightest clink.
p.s. I hope that tomorrow will not be "just another Wednesday" for you. See you all next week.
p.p.s. Dear Paige, if you are reading this: DO NOT eat all of the marshmallow yum-yum salad before I get there. I know you are the one who makes it, but still... :)
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