This was Sunday

But now I,

Tired and thinking about

Tomorrow's cares

Wind down with a movie

And a cigarette

Listening with one ear

To make sure

My daughter is really sleeping

And won't ask me to

Run up the stairs

One more time

To bring her something

Or take her to the bathroom

When she really doesn't

Have to go

But just wants one more

Bit of time with mommy

Tired though her mommy is.

This was Sunday

And on this day

I didn't do the carpets

Or clear the floors

Instead I took a drill

And screwed in wood

On the back of the stairs

Going down to the basement

Where I put an extra handrail

Halfway down

Between the one

Already there

and the stairs

So my little girl won't fall

And hurt herself.

I like doing things like that

Sometimes I think

I should've been born a man

Handy as I am

With bits of wood and tools.

This was Sunday

And all day long

Whenever I light a cigarette

I think about my father

Who goes for radiation therapy

In two weeks for cancer

After they make a plastic mask

To cover his face

So the radiation won't

Burn his skin

I'm scared for him

I'm scared for me

Because I don't know

What life will be like

Whenever he's gone

Whether it's next year

Or twenty down the road

And because I know

We are all mortal

No matter who we claim to be.

This was Sunday

And my husband wasn't home

But that's okay

Because it's his job

We're used to that

Our friends down the street

Took us in for dinner

And a chat so

We wouldn't feel so all alone.

We don't though

And now I'm sure

Little one is sound asleep

The movie's over and

I'm stealing two more minutes

Of time for just me

To dream a writer's dream

On pen and paper

Imagination running free

Where I am anything

And everything I want to be

Not just mommy, wife, employee.

This was Sunday

And right now

This is me.

©14/3/1994 C.M. Harris Davies

p.s. my father died April 9, 1995.