Hallowtide Poem by Camilla Keenan Koch

Saturday was painful
I wept in the arms of my friend
Over lost people, and lost things
Saturday evening I try to make mischief
The night is long and sleepless and tears words from my skin
To wring them out on the page
Sunday is remorse and frailty
Stripped of all its bark
Sin is my anchor.
I construct the evening like a bubble
Then sleep like the dead.
Monday begins on time,
but is quickly given over to conversation
Retribution hovers in the day
But the course is true
And the night brings a smiling confession
Everything is explained, or understood, or forgiven.
All is made well.

Tomorrow we begin again,
And it comforts me to know
the ones I have lost have also lost me