Nate Pritts, "4 months from Monday, Monday"

“Monday, Monday, can't trust that day.”
—“Papa” John Phillips


February


FEBRUARY 6
Fool, said my muse to me. Fool.

FEBRUARY 13
Already, buds. Spring starts talking loud

FEBRUARY 20
& the quiet of this winter is

FEBRUARY 27
a slow echoing.


*


July


JULY 3
I make a sandwich. I drink grape juice. I peel an orange.

JULY 10
Today I am a lute in a window & there is no breeze.

JULY 17
Today I am a window with a lute in it. No breeze.

JULY 24
I am a breeze not blowing; over there: a window, a lute.

JULY 31
I peel an orange. I eat.


*






August


AUGUST 7
Affirmative red, this dichotomy.

AUGUST 14
Can’t trust that day.

AUGUST 21
Sparkle-hearted: this dull memory spackled over.

AUGUST 28
& what I wouldn’t give for a chili dog.


*

September


SEPTEMBER 4
A sad monument, something fading.

SEPTEMBER 11
Can a day ever be just a day

SEPTEMBER 18
or is it always the other days it was,

SEPTEMBER 25
a dull history of days, an oppressive rush?