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Numbered Days
by jacob erin-cilberto

in my state of mind i see two of you
California girl,
and Georgia on my calendar
with the days marked off
in abrupt "X's"

something fills the little squares of existence
yet emotion is siphoning the staid
feeling, Fridays for endings,
Saturday for retrospection

Sunday, for resting on the laurels
i never earned,
the good book in my hand
chapters of fading epistles
of Jonah whales swallowing whatever sense
i had left,

Monday, i drive towards you again,
same job, different city, different perspective
but the buildings made of etchings look the same
as the ones that traced the very first heartbreak
when i was 17 and you were only a moonshadow
behind the local store, as we smoked cigarettes and
realized lips were meant to brush stroke paintings
of panting colors,

Tuesday is tomorrow's
dates of dates spent
someplace east of
where we catch our breath
and flip the page into
next month.

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