Red Letter Day

Catherine's Buddha

Buddha.  Catherine Buchanan

It’s a special day today. I’ll shave.

I’ll look in the mirror and remember

to nip the white hairs on the end of my nose.

I’ll be young again today, as young as

a beach without waves

a fresh bag of chips

a rogue asteroid or

a Tourette’s outburst.


It’s a special day today.

I’ll put on shoes and leave the house

without locking the door behind me,

without knowing where I am going.

I’ll count my strides

like a Roman legionnaire

before losing count

when I turn the corner.


It’s a special day today.

Overnight the past just vanished,

the names of everything erased.

Today I can begin the reinvention

of the compass rose

of sacred superstitions

of verbs that fly and

even a reason to return.

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