The Perfect Day Poem by Deborah Way

One day in a year,
(one year in a life)
you encounter the perfect day.
it's usually around now
(mid-July)
when the summer is solid-
not too young, not too old.

The perfect day displays itself casually,
in fact, not fully revealed until evening.
mid-day clouds quilt the earth
white silk lined with the old gray goose's down,
make you suspect
this could be the day,
(but you are still not sure.)
not until evening do you know for certain...
...can you say with conviction,
'Yes, this is it.'

For on the perfect day, the evening lingers,
knowing itself lovely
so lovely that to die young-this would be criminal.

The modest crickets, the secret birds take part.
and even the mostly brash crow,
(even he)
is not shy to confess his private dreams:
'sometimes I think I am an eagle.'
(a sheepish single 'caw! ')
but on the perfect day,
all other life can believe with him.

And on the perfect day,
smell becomes sublime...
...encompassing
(perfecting)
its sister: taste;
powerful and pungent
everywhere there is life-
in a crumpled sprig of parsley,
fresh pulled from its mother plant;
in the bitter perfume on the woman's wrist
as she carries her just-gleaned tomato to the kitchen.

On the perfect day, a tree
is a quivering mass
green spangles of light and shadow and monarch-orange
in the wake of a disjointed breeze.
and a ball tossed below its branches
lifts into a sunbeam
(for just a moment)
gleaming brighter than life.
and the ball itself loves to be in the game
as it flies under the kiss of the sun...

For the light of this sun has transformed
shifted across the day, across the season
Crystal sharp,
making you sure
you could count the leaves on a tree
three backyards away.

On this perfect day,
(somewhere in mid-July)
all of last year's deadness...
all the fragile mistakes of spring...
these have blown away;
and the final flowering, the drying out, the falling...
these are many tomorrows away
the heart does not pound them out now.

Therefore,
this day...this one special day...
you allow yourself this:
To feel you might never be hungry,
or tired,
or cranky,
or lonely
again.