Sunday Abandonment

Keep talking.
The kitchen has gentle
butchering knives.

“Today’s Sunday. I need to speak to you.”

Take Sunday back, then. Drown it!
Slaughter it!
Sunday is starving itself in a fit of tension;
leather skin begging for lotion.

Weak days have poor eating habits.
Anxious bellies roll,
tumbling rejection
around,
around.

Unsafe.
Unsound.

Un-Sunday, then keep talking!
Your speech has sharp fingertips,
jabbing at my spider webs,
my sticky, thick mesh.

Un-Sunday, then
cut jelly rolls,
tumble Sunday
around,
around.

Without rejection.
Safe.
Sound.

 

 

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15 thoughts on “Sunday Abandonment

  1. Wow, you really know how Sunday feels. Remember when we were in school and Monday was looming at the end of a weekend? I never could enjoy Sundays past 5:30 pm. But now I’ll look on the Sunday evening anxiety a bit more poetically. Thank you for sharing.

  2. Ah-ha! There you are! You were working on a complex poem with the fatal words ‘I need to speak to you …’

    Your use of all poetic tools is utterly awesome, MaggieMae – respect

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