On that Tuesday

It's that Tuesday,

After that Monday

When everyone was high on life–celebrating,

When normal was tucked away and everything was special.

Nothing feels the same on that Tuesday,

After that Monday

Even though my reflection hasn't changed...

Much.

Up close I can see the ghost of a smile,

One that speaks to the butterflies in my stomach

Still fluttering around from that Monday–

Echoes of freedom and acceptance and love.

But today is that Tuesday,

After that Monday,

And I'm not sure what matters in the after

And the in between.

Is it hopes and dreams?

The reality I make?

Finding joy in between big moments?

A who instead of a what?

I think I'm figuring it out a little each day.

What I do know is on that Tuesday,

I'm still a child of divorce.

A victim of abuse.

A woman in a man's world.

Monday's exuberance can't change

That I know the burden of loneliness.

The unfairness of sexism.

The cynicism of aging.

On that Tuesday,

I'm still a daughter who lost her mother this year.

Confused on how to feel when the relationship was rough.

Sad for missing what was missing.

On that Tuesday,

I'm still a mother of four,

And even on that Monday because

Motherhood. Never. Stops.

I still cry at night when no one sees;

Sad my babies aren't little anymore.

The hugs and kisses have slowed.

Time spent together is different.

On that Tuesday,

After that Monday

I'm still trying to find moments for myself;

To remember me.

Stolen moments to read,

To write,

To slow down and just be;

Enjoy time with people I choose.

On that Tuesday,

After that Monday,

The world keeps moving

But people seem to stay the same.

The fleeting fellowship from the day before has faded.

The population remains divided.

The name of love is used to hate.

Relationships are suffering.

Despite that Monday,

Before that Tuesday

When everyone tried to get along,

Nothing has really changed.

But maybe it could. Maybe I could.

I think I'm figuring it out a little each day.

Maybe that Tuesday,

After that Monday

Could be its own kind of special;

And so could the Wednesdays all the way through the Sundays.

Perhaps on that Tuesday,

I'll give myself some grace.

Smile at my reflection and

Move forward instead of looking back.

So on that Wednesday,

I'll feel more confident

And maybe a little less sad, angry.

I might want to 'people' a bit.

But maybe that Thursday,

Will be too hard,

And I won't feel like trying to be someone better.

I'll just want to wallow in my misery.

But hopefully on that Friday,

I can pull myself together.

Focus on what's good.

Let go of other's expectations.

So when that Saturday rolls around,

I can feel free to live life without reservation.

Strive to learn something new and understand better.

Love more fiercely.

And on that Sunday,

Oh, that Sunday before that Monday

When anticipation is high,

I want to breathe out the grace I've given myself and

bestow it on others, because we all need it.

Because that Monday is coming.

And I want it to be a reflection of all the Tuesdays

Through Sundays that came before.

I want those butterflies of freedom, acceptance and love

to be present every day.

I hope when it's that Tuesday again,

After that Monday

When everyone is high on life,

That it feels normal to be special.