I've Forgotten What Day It Is, poetry by Aleathia Drehmer at Spillwords.com
Yifei Chen

I’ve Forgotten What Day It Is

I’ve Forgotten What Day It Is

written by: Aleathia Drehmer



Starlings pick the yard clean of
worms, ticks, beetles, and flies
while in the distance the river
moves as it has always done.

It is unaware my heart searches
for love or that I’ve written a novel.
It doesn’t care about the shadow
of a bruise on my left calf
from a perfectly placed paintball.

And what of the gray blanket of April?
It hides spring for when we can
leave the house and sing her praises
because she is a diva like that.

Our bodies itch for freedom
and the touch of other humans.
The river pushes forward like a dream,
a keeper of all the memories
snagged on its banks

every squelching muddy footprint
every dog barking at nothing
every lover’s picnic
every smooth stone cast to unknown depth.

I sit at the window
and listen to stillness
watching nature take over
and wonder if I might
just go mad.

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