Dear Sunday

You came back on Sunday because you’re so cliche.

You took all the color out,

And I stared at the greyness of my mattress,

Watched it foam and mush in the morning light,

Spill over onto the beige carpet,

Eat up my toes hanging over the edge until I

Let you take over.

And did you even think about my mother when you did?

Did you think about her sitting at the kitchen table by herself in the dim light sorting through bills like playing cards

And making us food and calming me down when my schedule tore through fragile skin,

And you saw that fragility.

School work was always a boring piece of notebook paper but I never thought it would turn to marble and then bite me.

I never thought the huge trees in the neighborhood could be scary

Simply because I didn’t know how long they’d been there,

Or where they ended

Or when they’d be gone,

And then, when I go my neighborhood will sit here as if nothing has happened,

They’ll ask my mom about me and she’ll look far off.

Are you aware of how much hospital bills cost,

Pills and therapy?

Are you aware of college tuition?

Remember last time with the polka dot sheet they made you wear,

Like a clown with a frown,

Like something out of a horror movie my mom stayed up to watch, her eyes burning with the sting of tears held back for me,

And yet,

You keep coming on Sunday.

Sunday the day that everyone hates because it’s the day

before the bad, the week, the job, the sadness, the greyness, the mush, all all too much, eating, biting, playing with you.  

A predator waiting in the corner of the bedroom and

your mom is sitting on her bed in her bedroom unable to sleep,

Worrying over you.

You never thought about that because you’re a chemical imbalance

I keep making a person.