For years I spent Sundays preparing for Mondays,
Paying bills and washing clothes,
Stocking up on cooking supplies
So I could begin my week with
Sundays mornings, I attended the Church of Trader Joe’s
Picking out organic produce.
I had my staples:
A bag of Romaine
Three heads stuffed into a plastic bag.
A box of Persian cucumbers
Half a dozen lemons.
Later in the week, as supplies dwindled
I sautéed carrots, celery, and onions
And heated frozen rice
In the microwave.
There was always one more task to remember:
Prescriptions at the drugstore
Printer ink from the office supply store
Did my daughter have money for
On the calendar I wrote
The early release days,
School holidays and exam days.
Forms that need to be filled out and
What would we have for dinner that night?
When would my husband be home?
Despite my best
Mondays rarely started with
The mind knows better than
To run ahead of itself.
Forget the items on the list and be still.
Mondays mornings are for quiet reading and writing
And sitting zazen in a chair.
Not to do or to plan.
But to be and to listen
For what comes