Sunday, September 27, 2015

A Day Like Any Other by Lisel Mueller

A Day Like Any Other

Such insignificance: a glance

at your record on the doctor's desk

or a letter not meant for you.

How could you have known? It's not true

that your life passes before you

in rapid motion, but your watch

suddenly ticks like an amplified heart,

the hands freezing against a white

that is a judgment. Otherwise nothing.
The face in the mirror is still yours.
Two men pass on the sidewalk

and do not stare at your window.

Your room is silent, the plants

locked inside their mysterious lives

as always. The queen-of-the-night

refuses to bloom, does not
 your definition. It makes no sense,
your scanning the street for a traffic snarl,

a new crack in the pavement,

a flag at half-mast -- signs

of some disturbance in the world

because your friend, the morning sun,

has turned its dark side toward you.


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