A poem by April Krassner


I cannot remain fixed on the fact
of Saturday, or is it a concept?
The concept of Saturday? I’d like
it to be. I’d like it to be both
fact and concept: Saturday.
Maybe it is. Maybe not. Maybe 
it floats from one shore to another, floats 
in terms of time zone, latitude, language.
The concept of this named day betrays 
history, wrecks the abacus of adding 
time to the changing of time, the counting
adding, subtracting clocks, reversing mornings 
for evenings, exchanging time for time lost 
or gained. The fact of Connecticut decries 
the fact of Islamabad or Western Ontario. 
Even though I have lost Saturday, the moon 
follows, flirts with clouds, covers herself 
before speaking. It is Sunday. It is in fact.

About the Author:

April Krassner holds an MFA from Sarah Lawrence College and an MS in Secondary Education from New York University. A teacher, her work has recently turned toward improvisation, reflection, and online connection. A writer, her work includes essays, poetry, flash poetry and fiction as well as flash memoir. Her work has appeared in print and online journals including Poetry Breakfast, Anderbo, Cyclamens and Swords, Moria, Slapdrag.

Poetry Breakfast is an online journal publishing poetry and short plays.
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