A No Thing Day

As a child Saturday was a no thing day
full of “I’m boreds,” and “there’s nothing to dos.”
No plans, no excitement, no available friends.
“Clean your room.” or “Read a book.”

I would rather die.

Even now Saturday is a no thing day.
Full of “Whys?” and forsaken “What nows?”
There is also no table, no cross, no empty tomb.

So I lay down and wait
Being taken to the edge of myself
dropping
                  deep
                             down
into earthy darkness
where the soil remembers.

Held in the womb of Saturday time
She speaks the wound and the scar:
the truest living thing has always been among the dead.