maybe it is important
to remember
difficult days,
even or especially
when all we want is to
forget. perhaps
it is honoring to
remember the day
when despair and
rage transformed
a giving star
into a god
of blindness and
burning—people
walk by toasted
amber and smelling
of butter.
their smiles brandished
like small arms,
and all those tombstones
boasting loudly from behind
their fat-slicked lips.
maybe what you can
do is you can
take some photos or
write in a journal or
maybe put together
a playlist of songs,
on a day marred by
difficulty. and you can
take beautiful photos
and write wonderful words
and select songs that slake
like spring water;
these are all good
and kind and yes,
still they are
blunted to bruising
by difficult days.
but what can be done
is you can write
a heading in your journal;
you can title your playlist;
you can deposit your
digital photos into a folder
on your computer;
the name of this folder might be,
“a difficult day
though
it ended in gold”.
and maybe you have
a nice photo
of a sunset or
maybe of a city
park bench with
a dollop of broken light
in morning’s abandoned coffee
cup. a paper cup
with a paper cuff,
a smear of lipstick,
the cup rim swollen
from chewing.
and then when you get through
the day and it is no longer
difficult, when you
find yourself blissfully
lost in the reassurance,
in the confidence, of
a pleasant evening or
a hopeful morning, you
can look at your journal,
your playlist, your
file folder of digital photos,
and you can pause,
perplexed,
or maybe only vaguely
confused, and recall
that, yes, that
was a difficult day.
and in its difficulty,
that was all that existed.
you were swallowed or
maybe just gnawed upon
and you were unable to
see past those tombstone
teeth menacing you
from a smiling grave.
impossible, impossible
to ever feel good
again, and again,
impossible, to have ever
felt so bad. and so
maybe you should
make a playlist or
take some photos or
write something down.
maybe an email.
could be a poem.
and pick a title or
select a slew of words,
cobbled and toddling,
to remind you of your
good day.
it is honoring
to remember when
your days are good,
just as it is a
form of salvation
to remember when
your days are difficult.
your days are difficult,
yes, and your days are
kind. your days are
your own and your days
belong to all of us.
and one day
will multiply and then
eventually subtract,
and you will be right or
left or upside down,
with no more days,
no, no more days,
only the limitlessness of
your impermanence,
your collections of
photos and playlists,
poems and emails.
like footprints.
and when we fear the
unknowing of death,
and when we feel the
break of missing someone
who we know will one day
have no day, we
can remember,
oh yes, i have
had difficult days.
and, yes, i have
had kind days. and
oh, what peculiar luck
to have had any
days at all.
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