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      May 17, 2010MondayB.Z. Niditch

      Every day is Monday
      it began to be blue
      after Independence Day
      the telephone was shut off
      and the cat ran away
      then the first day
      began as a wish day
      the next Monday
      became a love day
      not unlike the laundromat
      where we met
      to chatter away
      and stared into the wash cycle.
      Could that be us
      and I began to think
      every day is the last day
      and I became dependent
      on Mondays
      not just to wash
      my clothes and yours
      it was only a preparation
      for denuded night
      and when Monday appeared
      I could not wash away
      my memory of the Monday
      when I first knew
      the everyday without the blues
      that Monday would sing me
      to sleep and now
      it is every day that is Monday
      for the cat returned
      the telephone was fixed
      but we could not speak
      till Tuesday.

      from #22 - Winter 2004

      B.Z. Niditch

      “In thinking about my passion for poetry, I remember back to the mid-1970s, when I wrote what I considered my first ‘serious’ work of poetry, and sent it off to the magazine Poem. To my delight, as well as good fortune, the magazine’s editor reacted very enthusiastically, and chose to publish the piece. I suppose it was that first exhilarating feeling of acceptance and recognition, the sense that my writing might move others, and even ‘make a difference,’ that helped fortify me artistically, and propelled me to keep writing and publishing.”

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