Dashing to meet my husband’s oncologist,
Daybook gripped between elbow and ribs,
My shoe catches a crack in the sidewalk.
The planner escapes
Shiny rings spring open
Sheets strew across the sidewalk
and the grassy verge.
Too astonished to cry out
I dive to claim my dispersed days,
fingers, hands, elbows, knees
splayed like a grownup game of Twister.
names of books
All will be lost.
Then a businessman bearing briefcase,
a nanny in N95,
a jogger sporting earbuds,
three teens in trenchcoats
and a man in MAGA hat
pause in their respective paths,
retrieve my scattered days,
return them to me,
damp, dirty, disheveled
My rescuers resume disparate ways.
I stuff my days into their binder
to be sorted
within their shiny rings
when all of this is over.
Cover image by McKenna Phillips.