When you have forgotten Sunday:

The love story- Gwendolyn Brooks

- And when you have forgotten the bright bedclothes
on a Wednesday and a Saturday
And most of all when you have forgotten Sunday
When you have forgotten Sunday halves in bed,
or me sitting on the front room radiator in the limping
afternoon
looking off down the long street together
to nowhere
Hugged by my plain old wrapper of no-expectation
And Nothing-I-have-to-do-and I'm-happy-why?
And if- Monday-never-had-to-come-
when you have forgotten that, I say,
And how you swore, if somebody beeped the bell,
And how my heart played hopscotch if the telephone rang;
And how we finally went to Sunday dinner,
That is to say, we went across the front room floor
to the ink spotted table in the southwest corner
To Sunday dinner, which was always chicken and noodles
or chicken and rice
and salad and rye bread and tea
and chocolate chip cookies
I say, when you have forgotten my little presentiment
That the war would be over before they got you;
and how we finally undressed and whipped out the light and flowed into bed
And lay loose-limbed for a moment in the weekend
bright bed clothes
Then gently folded into each other
When you have, I say, forgotten all of that,
Then you may tell,
Then I may believe
You have forgotten me well.

Published w/o permission. I don't know how this works.