The Circle that is My Day
Poem
I have recently begun to enjoy the sunset.
I don't see it, but I love its presence.
Why won’t I?
It is indeed the easiest part of my day.
Many nights, I refuse to reflect.
Instead, I wonder what the clock likes;
What bribe will work,
And make it stop for me.
A new day, a new start
— well, not in my life.
My days continue from where the last gave way to sunset.
So you understand why the first thing I never do in the morning is smile.
Noon sits at the center
Of a heavy awakening and relieving retirement.
But I rarely notice its presence
When I’m gluing my pieces together.
I know what my wounds are,
And I am applying balm to them.
But my body doesn’t think it is enough.
It is viewing my efforts as a mere bandaid.
Seasons in Newman’s land don't last too long.
It would make headlines if they did.
Hence, I am certain that like the weather,
The order of my days will improve.
…A bedtime poem on a peculiar September morning.
