this day only

She loved to lose track of days

dropping them like rose petals

or sending them off into the sea.

Bottles with messages bound

to be retrieved by someone else:

Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday

(nowhere in sight for her).

*     *     *

Her days folded into one another

without headings or proclamations.


No: the weekend’s finally here.

Each day, instead, a perfect gift

unwrapped each morning

like a child at Christmas.

*     *     *

At sunrise her fingers itched

to unloose the bow;

to tear away the paper;

to pop the lid;

to discover the secret

of this particular day.

One of a kind.

*     *     *

Sometimes, she’d forget to remember

to forget what day it was.

Trying to fit herself into a

box on the calendar,

an architecturally perfect square

surrounded by twins, triplets,

quadruplets multiplying into eternity.

*     *     *

But she could (eventually)

shrug them away

letting them roll down her arms.

Returning to her watery essence.

Flowing with the current of this day.

This day.

This day only.

*     *     *

Mmmm, I spent over a week losing track of my days near two of my favorite places, the Northern California coast and the Northern California old growth redwoods. Even though I’ve been home now for 10 days, I’ve felt a strong pull to continue this way, letting each day unfold in its own unique way.

How about you? Do you ever take pleasure in losing track of your days?

* * *

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2 thoughts on “this day only

  1. Hi Patty, since I started doing everything from home and no longer being required to report anywhere for work, I’ve had more of these experiences of being indifferent to what day it is, and I relish that in the way you seem to. Being on someone else’s timetable and under constant observation actually fosters resentment in me and reduces what I can accomplish, so this arrangement has also been great for getting work done.

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