Sunday
is the day
for
cream cakes
and
breezy walks by the river
for
yesterday’s newspaper casually folded on the floor
to
be fought by the cat
and
for all these plans to be falling apart
for
the sake of some peace of mind.
The
other days bear the taste
of
hasty filter coffee
hazy
eyes back and forth on bus rides
home-cooked
meals in the evening craved since the way back
commented
texts laying on the floor
just
like the cat
equally
uninterested in the fuss of ordinary life.
Exhausted
soles
aching
yet
dancing their way
to
one more Sunday.
February
2019,
Tayport.
sunday is the day you don't have to make your bed
ReplyDeleteyou don't have to get up at all,
put on umcomfortable clothes, your high heels and go conquer the world.
sunday is the day you can lay low
you can swing back and forth future plans, digest your failures and reassure yourself you' re gonna make it.
sunday is the day for rose cheeks
from the warmth of your sheets or just the excitement from too many cookies.
sunday is the day of no to do lists
of life spent watching FRIENDS and reading the same pages again and again.
retrospecting,
breathing slowly,
sinking and floating within yourself.
On a rainy sunday braistorming
words travelling from Tayport to Athens.