by Ann Weil
tracking
time, crossing
off days—
Mondays I wash
your clean shirts,
hang them on the line
one by one they unpin,
fly away, I hope they are
homing pigeons
Tuesdays I sweep
under your bed
I am still
finding your hair
Wednesdays
I sit on the roof
light a signal fire
burn down the house
Thursdays I buy
binoculars, scan
the blameless horizon
Fridays coil themselves
around my ankles
there is nothing to do
but sit statue until Saturdays
when the dog stings
and the bee barks
and my favorite things go mad
then Sundays roll
their eyes, tsk
at my four-year folly—
when will I learn
not all wild geese
return
Ann Weil's poetry appears in Best New Poets 2024, Pedestal Magazine, RHINO, Chestnut Review, 3Elements Review, and elsewhere. Author of Lifecycle of a Beautiful Woman (Yellow Arrow, 2023) and Blue Dog Road Trip (Gnashing Teeth, 2024), Weil is a former special education teacher and four-time Pushcart nominee who lives in Michigan and California. To read more of her work, visit www.annweilpoetry.com.
January House Literary Journal 
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