A poem for a grey Monday morning, given to me by a friend a few years ago that I had tucked into a notebook. It slid out this morning as I was looking for blank pages to fill.
Sometimes I can’t believe that marriage (and grown up life in general) has just so much maintenance involved. But thinking of those daily chores we do for each other as part of upholding the permanent structure of living, that they keep my suspect edifice upright in the air, as Atlas did the sky makes it all sound much more noble.
Happy Monday, friends.
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