Blue Monday

“woke” somehow knowing

in my bones, heavy

that the ground was still frozen

as usual, my bones were right

so my slate is wiped clear

so I go about producing a day from scratch:

I turn up the heat

I write numerous notes

I arrange for a salmon dinner

next I know it’s noon

I’ve finished everything I started:

a mini-panettone, a cup of tea

an article in the Atlantic about Joan Didion