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If ever a day so deceitful, so
promising in its delicate sunshine,
you’d stow all the wools and flannels, change out
storms for screens—the mud-framed sidewalks, matted
gardens so bathed in clemency you’d stamp
COMMUTED on the calendar and free
those squirmy inmates from their times-sevens
and prepositions to dance a giddy
getaway into rumpus rooms of blue
and wispy white—today’s that kind of day.

Originally appeared in Silver Stork

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

D.R. James

D. R. James lives in the woods outside Saugatuck, Michigan, and has recently retired from Hope College after 37 years of teaching writing, literature, and peace studies. His most recent of ten collections is Mobius Trip (Dos Madres Press, 2021).