A poem a day in April from Rutgers English PhD students and friends.

Thursday, April 7, 2016


Today's poem will be
Occasionally, every April,
I make up for lost time.

is an important number
for many systems
of luck and time keeping.
In many ways
We Are Seven:
Our hair and our nails,
for instance.

The truth is,
it's been a week.
Not by design, but
quite arbitrarily.
all on its own.

Can I account for those days?
Why, yes.
Will I tell the jury, please?
It would be my pleasure.

What happened is,
the sun and the earth
moved a bit -
I mean, in a very specific, individual way -
seven times.

closer and further
apart. Or,
the earth turned
away and back
again and again. Or,
the sun got warmer and colder -
or it just felt that way.
I can't always remember which.

The point is,
both were responsible.
The point is
time passed in a pattern of seven
and nothing else.
Much stayed the same;
much was different.
I wrote no poems
five of those seven:
that is a constant.
I write one now:
that is a difference
and a repetition.


  1. Oh hi! Welcome back! This poem reminded me that I probably should have done something meta for my 7 x 7 today . . . but then I didn't. ;) Thank you for reminding me of the relationship between time and sevens!

  2. There is something very witchy and mystical about numbers! :)