I Made it 'Til Sunday, poetry by Phyllis Schwartz at Spillwords.com
Carlos Bastias

I Made it ‘Til Sunday

I Made it ‘Til Sunday

written by: Phyllis Schwartz


Heaven rests on Sunday, my balcony is where.
Especially when there’s salty fall sun and Encinitas air.
If this were my last day I really wouldn’t care.

Clouds/No clouds?

Reading the papers every other word.
No need to gird
or prepare for Monday.

Sound/No sound?

The low hum of cars first then surfers laughing in the waves.
Overhead a plane competing with the sound of weightless butterfly wings I gaze.
Not to be outdone by palms’ conspiratorial whispers to bees buzzing in the haze.

Dream/No Dream?

Head bobbing, slipping between sleepy and alert states of attention.
Blue glass bob swinging to the blue earth’s rotation.
Red glass cutting a blood red nation.

Float/No Float?

The birds are singing so sweetly.
What do they know?
Take the lazy boat to Sunday you don’t even have to row.



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