In a Month of Sundays

All this time without the sight of you
has been bright, quiet, sweat-free,
with only the distant tolling of bells
morning after morning to remind me
that somewhere people might
be rising & kneeling together,
intertwining the fingers
of their left & right hands
& bowing their heads over them,
intoning the joyful syllables of reunion.
The moon has rounded its full cycle
from dark to dark all the while
this single day has kept replaying,
like a peppy song on heavy rotation,
& I have set the noontime table
as well as a guy who lives alone
can do. It’s been so long! Here,
have a seat. Join me in my vigil
for that stranger, the Monday blues.

5 Replies to “In a Month of Sundays”

  1. Jo, this wasn’t autobiographical. It’s just an exploration of the possible meanings behind the cliched expression (maybe it’s only an Americanism?), “I haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays.”

  2. Nope, it’s English too………the sweat made me think it was a.b., that and the number of people going down with it at them moment. Anyways, good.

  3. A rolling sound to this poem, it takes me on a ride. Clever idea too, not to have had the chance to see the Mondayblues in a while.

    PS thanks for the link to our co-po!

  4. No problem, Christine. Glad you liked this. I was personally rather fond of it (which is not something I often say about my own stuff).

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