You And Your Day Poem by Francis Santaquilani

You and your day were a mountain.
Sickeningly vertical,
Sheer walls
Of an unknown rock,
As wide as a year at your base,
No cracks, crevices or crags,
Sleek as your routine,
A sky shoehorned in somehow,
Two hawks circle a dim, autumn,
Sunday morning sun and me
At your base.

Your appalling lack of texture
Always froze me at your base.
Your edges, always your edges,
Nothing to grab, nothing.
And the look on your gigantic face
Could gut and banish from miles away
Like steel to the touch in the morning
On a cold factory floor.

Decades from your day now,
Towns, cities and happiness
Stacked against you like sandbags,
In mid-walk, mid-thought or mid-smile
The sheer walls
Of the face of your day
Still lock me in place.