Wednesdays are the pivot point to my week
the day around which the others turn.
All the other days twirl around it like the sun.
Wednesday night is the night when magic happens.
I drop every mask I wear and just become me.
All the hidden pieces are seen and
fitted back together into something beautiful.
Everything good and bad is accepted free of judgment.
The picking at owie places ceases.
Instead they are tended and allowed to heal.
Words are coaxed from this fertile Wednesday
ground into the sun and air.
Without Wednesday's influence my week has no center
one day spills uncontained into another
until they are all the same.
Wordless things that lie on the sofa and
channel flip eating peanut butter-filled pretzels.
I am tethered to Wednesday night
the rope alternately pulling me in tight
then letting me graze off in new directions.
Pulling me in week after week.
Returning me home.
Re-igniting fires long cold in my eyes.
In my belly.
Then chivvying me off into the world again
a different person than upon my arrival.
*This is for Mary Ann Jansen who is the very heart of the magic that is Wednesday night. You will be missed.