one day
marking time
as tedious to go back
as go on to the bitter end
where everything
on the cusp of evening
no more light is shed
the midpoint of noon
sinks again with the sun
again
I write it down
as if written out
memory cannot fail
in the way that dusk fails
this death by twilight
this partial eclipse
of the colour
of patience
reflected
on sky
© BH, 2020
Someone, somewhere asked for a poem about ‘Wednesday’. Once begun, it went nowhere. About a week later, Stuart Paterson posted a last-minute contribution for National Poetry day (1st October 2020). As always, I’d forgotten about that.
Still, with 17 minutes to go, I dug out my wednesday poem, fiddled with it and posted this in return. I initially changed the title to ‘a day’ because, well, I thought it less pretentious. (Pretentious, moi?) In the end 'thursday' seemed to fit - that was 2020's National Poetry, a day like any other.
Still I feel a seven-poem cycle coming on! I'd already written 'friday' a few weeks ago…
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