Poem for her 368

Dear Readers,


Mondays

There was this story of snow when you were born
There was the story of first snow in years when I was born
It was said you were born on a Monday
Well lo and behold just yesterday I see so was I
And here it is a Monday
When my hands slid down your shoulder just minutes ago
You were cooking at the stove and talking to me
Saying things only we share with each other
Like what to buy at the grocery store next
Or what color the table clothe needs to be
Next when you pull out the burgundy turtle neck
The Noxious gear that you don't have yet
Laid out in the array before you on cards
The cards fluttering to the ground picking 4 of 43
Things to do the next time I see you wearing black
Things to do on the Mondays going forward
I'd tell you we could always do them again
On the Tuesday or the Friday or those other days
Then I'd also like to write you that non-public poem
The one sitting in email as I type and as I say

Happy Birthday Babe,

Charles.