Monday Mornings

The day after I was born,
was Monday morning.

The day after my baptism,
was Monday morning.

The day after my graduation,
was Monday morning.

The day after my wedding,
was Monday morning.

And the day after my father died,
was Monday morning.

Somewhere,
lost in all those Monday mornings
is the blessed story
                  of who I truly am,
                  of the gifts I bear,
                  of the man, woman, child,
I carry in my soul.

Monday mornings stripped
meaning away from my life,
like the bark on a tree.

Wounded and weary,
I so easily surrendered
my belonging in this world.

In trying to gain my due,
I lost it entirely.

Henceforth there will be:
                  no more empty relationships,
                  no more meaningless rituals,
                  no more poverty of spirit,
                  no more sacrificial victims,
                  no more Monday mornings.

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This poem was written on November 22, 2025.