The Day Before
We treat it like any other,
pick and peel blood oranges, feast
on their deep red flesh, juices flowing
down our arms like a blessing. We laugh
at the crows’ raucous chorus, bask
in a hummingbird’s iridescence
as he pulls nectar from the feeder.
We change sheets, wash towels
and brush the cats as though the day
will pass into another no more or less
remarkable than this one. While the sun is high
and your body still whole, grief resides
elsewhere, hidden by daylight but waiting
its turn to seep through the cracks
into the deep dark of tomorrow.
by Debbie Hall
Editor’s Note: The title adds levels of meaning to this poem that don’t become clear until the very end.
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