A Poem for a Thursday #162

Lately, I have been revisiting some of my favorite poets that I have discovered over the last few years. When I find a poet I like the temptation is to share poem after poem after poem. However, that would defeat the purpose of these blog posts so I ration myself to only sharing poems from my favorites every now and then. While I have liked Billy Collins’ poetry for a while now I had never read this poem until about five minutes ago. So, while this week is another familiar poet it is a poem that is new to me. I hope you enjoy it.

Each one is a gift, no doubt,
mysteriously placed in your waking hand
or set upon your forehead
moments before you open your eyes.

Today begins cold and bright,
the ground heavy with snow
and the thick masonry of ice,
the sun glinting off the turrets of clouds.

Through the calm eye of the window
everything is in its place
but so precariously
this day might be resting somehow

on the one before it,
all the days of the past stacked high
like the impossible tower of dishes 
entertainers used to build on stage.

No wonder you find yourself
perched on the top of a tall ladder
hoping to add one more.
Just another Wednesday

you whisper,
then holding your breath,
place this cup on yesterday's saucer
without the slightest clink.

Days
Billy Collins