Rosimaya

1

You stone
my Saturdays,
You waste
my Wednesdays,
And tear up
my Tuesdays
Into two;
You snare
my Sundays,
You squeeze
my Saturdays,
And toss
my Tuesdays
Unto thorns.

2

You feign
you feign
you
Feign
you forget my face
In even
The pious presence
Of God our God,
The Father Almighty,
The maker
Of heaven and earth,
Including all—
Even you and me,
Who today
Both hold on to worlds As different
As the land from the Sea!
Why can’t you tell Me
You no more love Me?
Or why not tell Me
You can love me no More?

3

You scorn
my Sundays,
You freeze
my Fridays,
And sink
my Saturdays
In a swamp;
You wet
my Wednesdays
You soil
my Saturdays,
And milk
my Mondays
Of their mirth.

4

You feign
you feign
you
Feign
I did not tell you
The time and
Place we were to meet;
But I know
I know I did tell you—
You did
Repeat it to yourself.
My witnesses
Are your innocent
Ears, not your
Faithful tongue and eyes
Who’d also
Refuse to remember;
Why can’t you tell Me
You never have loved Me?
Or why not tell Me
You just will not love Me?

5

You slash
my Saturdays,
You tease
my Tuesdays,
And snob
my Sundays
In the sun;
You mock
my Mondays,
You wreck
my Wednesdays,
And smother
my Sundays
In the smoke.

6

You feign
you feign
you
Feign
you do so love me
But the truth
Is now like the rain;
He who sees not,
Feels it on his skin,
And with
A deep paralyzing pain,
Erodes away
The still-wet walls of
Our strong castles
Built in my dreams.
The terrible truth
Is now like the sun—
Where it is
Not seen, it is felt;
Skin of your words
Show a telltale tan,
Scales blinding
My eyes start to melt.

7

You foul
my Fridays,
You starve
my Saturdays,
And mess up
my Mondays
In the mud;
You shun
my Saturdays
You maim
my Mondays,
And heap
heavy sorrow
Onto my soul.