Warning: Prose Poetry Ahead

A Monday in April

Everything looks, feels, particularly dramatic this morning. I don’t know what it is, but it’s as if this was the Monday that changed the world forever. Something about the sky. Something about the shadow of the house on the neighbor’s stockade fence. Something about the sound of the wind in the still leafless trees. What’s going on here? What’s happening? I hear a dog barking. I hear the pat-pat-pat of a jogger going by. I hear the single cry of a gull, up in the wind, and then a flurry of remarks from a nearby crow. Is this the Monday that changes everything? Is this the moment before the earthquake, or is a star exploding somewhere far away, or is your brother thinking of calling you with some deeply consequential news? On this day, I will write in my journal, everything changed. On this day, the sky opened. On this day, light shone in the dark. It was Monday, and the world was new.