Thursday

There is something special about
Today as I think about it, I feel
There is something special about
How it fits, how it seems to move
Uniquely from beginning to end
I can’t put my finger on it. . .

It is a smooth day, like velvet
It has been gliding over my skin
Without abrasion, without catch
Or strain helping me accomplish
What needed doing, I hardly
Noticed as it swept me along
It seemed to know what was
Needed even as I found the need
There was so much need, but
I knew it not, until this Thursday
Showed it to me. . . I still don’t
Understand, how does a day know
When I know not?

It is a special day, I say special,
Because I have never known one
Like it before. Yes, I have known
Hours of velvet, smooth hours, but
Never days that knew things, knew
Things so well, so perfectly. . .

I tell myself it is only one of fifty-two
With a similar name, in a single year
But I did not feel the same way
About the last fifty-one.
And in my life how many times
Fifty-two have gone before?

It has been said (was it Carver?)
If you do a common thing in an
Uncommon way, you can change
The world ⸻perhaps that is what
Has happened.

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