by Erin Bedford

Today is Monday
I suspend all belief in the end of the week

We eat a late breakfast of smoked salmon on cream cheese on toast
I walk to Edgemont on my own
buy coffee some sourdough bread and
raspberries I rinse in your kitchen sink then set on paper towels where they bleed
perfect pink rings

I read a book about wild places
still sex-dazed and jet-lagged
I drift away
to the sound of your wheeled office chair on the second floor
rouse when your sisters’ kids race through the door
hardly interested in the strange woman on their uncle’s couch
no more attention paid me than a new cushion or throw
I become “The Nice Lady”
rapt audience for their karate kick show because
I have time
I teach them pétanque while you blacken the salmon we will take next door
to your sister’s house for supper
She lends me her picture ID to use at the suspension bridge park across the street
The right postal code on her driver’s license means I get in for free
The ticket agent and the security guard believe we’re family
and inside this boundary we exist
you and I   (We could go on like this  We will go on like this)

On Monday evening
we cross the bridge  swaying
The amount of times your hands reach for me you must believe I’m about to fall
or fly away
You ask me to come back and see the light show
the snow

It doesn’t matter what I believe
This river doesn’t freeze and we’re on the other side now   leaving
that Monday when you loved me

— from Juniper Volume 5, Issue 1