Thursday
A poem by Holly Day
Thursday
Suddenly, I know what is in the package. It’s
another piece of child, sent to drive me crazy. The package
is just the right size to hold
a bunch of little bits.
The very bottom of the stack of mail is a large manila envelope,
full of photographs of people I don’t know
or a finger, perhaps.
I gently pick the package up and shake it, it sounds
thick with paperwork, photographs of people I don’t know.
The rest of the mail sits waiting to be sorted through
at the very bottom of the stack is a large manila envelope,
perhaps concealing another piece of child, sent to drive me crazy. The package
has the return address of the new Baptist church in my neighborhood.
Photographs of children pour out onto the floor from the package
from the envelope, I think I recognize the handwriting.
Holly Day’s poetry has recently appeared in The Cape Rock, New Ohio Review, and Gargoyle. Her newest poetry collections are A Perfect Day for Semaphore (Finishing Line Press), In This Place, She Is Her Own (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press), A Wall to Protect Your Eyes (Pski’s Porch Publishing), I’m in a Place Where Reason Went Missing (Main Street Rag Publishing Co.), and The Yellow Dot of a Daisy (Alien Buddha Press).
