Tuesday

~Taylor Gray Tuesday is around ten in the morning, near the second day of the week. It is stationary near an open window, perhaps some dried roses. Tuesdays are gardens and lattice, especially lattice, painted white and shouldered by a tall, stately shrub. It is brass teapots on deep window ledges, cobblestones and the large white pillow napping in the sunlight on your bed. It is the yellow of old photographs, and the book you’ve been reading on the grass. It is a beautiful woman alone, smiling to herself, thinking about the date she has with Thursday, a rendezvous of lampshades, musty books, and the soft fall of rain on the leaves outside. And of course there are weeks when he comes over, and his thick veil of clouds waits at the door, raining to pass the time, strolling softly along the path by the house, peering through the windows at her bright Sunday flowers.