I discovered Sunday when the baby was crying.

I discovered Sunday when there were dishes in the sink.

I discovered Sunday when the clinky clanky music was too loud.

I discovered Sunday when I could no longer walk past the pile of diapers in the livingroom.


I discovered Sunday when my husband screamed and screamed.

The walls echoed his words: “You are good for nothing.  What do you do all day?”

Hot tears swelled my eyes and colored my face wet pink.

Inside me, the little voice said: “Enough”

“Hush,” the little voice said again. “Enough.”


Outside I walked into the sunlight of a newborn day.

I fell asleep on the grass of the earthquiet morning.

And began to cherish the quiet.


Then, I discovered Sunday

Very still

On the grass outside my home,

Amid cherry blossoms and apple trees,

Sunlight and stained glass.


The sun shone on Sunday.

As it became my day of peace.

Then….Monday and Tuesday too.

That day,

When I discovered Sunday.



Zisa Moglen — taken from the POETRY section of THE FLABLUNGET CHRONICLES





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