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

A bang.

Sundays mornings, I attended the Church of Trader Joe’s

Picking out organic produce. 

I had my staples:

A bag of Romaine lettuce,

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 

lunch?

On the calendar I wrote

The early release days,

School holidays and exam days.

Forms that need to be filled out and

Signed.

What would we have for dinner that night?

When would my husband be home?

Despite my best intentions,

Mondays rarely started with 

A bang.

The mind knows better than 

To run ahead of itself.

Monday mornings demand silence.

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 

next. 

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