When you first putyour hands on it,
the day feels like a honeycomb,
sweet and waxy.
you’re not sure you should lift.
Or it can feel like a refrigerator door,
the banister of a fire escape,
or like lying down in the middle of that year you hated,
rocking side to side.
also known days that felt like wet asparagus,
days like tightening a belt,
and others like swimming almost out of sight
in a cold mountain river.
Sometimes the day feels like a nimbus cloud
come down to earth in a Mideast revolution,
or like crouching in a football scrimmage line,
just shoulder pads touching
Day by day / Three things I pray. A day
can start out feeling like thick short dark hair
or a water bucket, or a basketball bounce,
and end up being spread on whole wheat bread.
Day, me say Day-O
sang Harry Belafonte in my youth,
and Oh what a beautiful day.
sang Gordon MacRae.
Feeling the day is like grasping
a handful of coins in a huge bin of coins,
and like making your way through an aspen forest,
then circling an enso.
It goes on and on. And on a day like this,
held steady by three fingers and one thumb,
“l fee/ pretty,” sang Maria from the fire escape,
“Oh, so pretty.”
“Give us this day our daily bread…”
How the day tempts us, offering its touch.
how watermelon it is, how tennis racket grip,
sponge squeeze, flower petal, one raindrop.
© Dick Allen