Let the ink drain from the calendar,
each little box emptying out its pockets.
Let doctor appointments and committee meetings
and car repairs fall to the floor.
Let the cat’s teeth be uncleaned
one more month. Let the book club keep reading
the same coming of age novel into September.
Three dinners with friends, two faculty meetings,
a hair appointment, a community barbeque:
all can be pushed into September.
Reschedule all the Women’s World Cup games.
Postpone errands to grocery stores, pharmacies,
gas stations, and even the library.
Leave me with a clean grid of lines,
no temporal reference points, no goals, no movement
forward or X’s to clutter the past. Suspend me
here in the eighth month. Let me hover.
Let me tread water. Let me linger.
