some days just

last-evening-sml-cr

here’s that fracture point again
when you just know you have to
change things around, create
a frisson of upheaval

some days just settle down into the low-down,
nose-to-cheek with d minor riffs
and lost grips on others’
barrelhouse hearts

and yet there are other days –
days that survive the coup to rise up,
overstep, outstrip the rabble
and the rubble

but life’s a bottleneck slide,
a continuous call and response –
and some days just slip back down again
into the brash and scree

it just isn’t the blues without truth,
but the good news is here’s another chance
at transformation, another shot
at outpacing it all anew,

here’s another day to rise, another day
to pluck those truth-taut strings,
and sing ourselves
a revolution

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at the end of the day

mint tea in the mug with the gingko leaves
with an extra squeeze of honey –
you know, from the bear-shaped bottle
I could never resist in spite of
(or because of) its silliness

somehow the steam against the chin
erases the sort of day it has been –
one of uncertainties and niggling headaches,
disorientation contending with
those first hopeful expectations

and I am tired of the way worry
pokes at my ribs with sharp-ended fingers,
but mint tea and a warm light
against the night outside my window
soothes and smoothes the edges

so that I can fold it away
because afterall, come tomorrow
today will be yesterday’s news –
best forgotten

© Sarah Whiteley