From Inside the Window

Kat Mrozek

 

Tuesdays aren’t much greyer than Wednesdays

when you’re in the same room, on the same couch,

for the thirteenth day in a row.

Leave it, you tell the dog

scrounging for scraps in the kitchen.

 

Tuesdays blend into Mondays

and you should’ve written this email

three Sundays ago

 

but it’s hard to focus on emails

when it feels like a Friday

and you wish you were anywhere but here.

Leave that sentence in

or take it out. They know what you mean.

Their website hasn’t been up to date

for roughly three hundred Tuesdays,

and it’s hardly worth looking for inspiration there.

But you scroll down, anyways,

and you search the photo

for the people you know. One, two, three.

Is it any wonder they don’t recognize you now,

stubborn and unchanged?

Oh, well. You gave it a shot.

 

It’s colder in here than it is outside.

The wind is finally picking up,

and tomorrow it may rain again.