One of the Sad Days

Thursday grabs me
by the chin,
glares at my eyes
for minutes before
tightening his fist, and
spitting insomnia in
my coffee mug.

The image of that house
in my head. Walls
like old skin. Loud love.
Turmeric and oud smells.
Your face in the light
of the fireplace. Your lips
and laugh lines. The yellow
backpack on the kitchen chair
waiting to go with you back
to the battle.

My heart, like a worm
swimming in salt, still
thinks of you.