Ode to a Saturday

Back when I was in high school, my girlfriends and I took a trip one night to a Mexican restaurant outside of Pittsburgh. This was a huge deal because driving to Pittsburgh from our houses without our parents was a huge deal. We were all babies who led happy (albeit sheltered) lives and we were spreading our delicate little wings. We tested the strength of those wings, were sufficiently happy with the results that night, and had a goofy, enjoyable night as any group of high school best friends could have. Naturally, no night could be complete without an abundance of inside jokes. On the way back home, we forever memorialized those jokes in a poem, titled "Ode to Saturday." I'm not sure my copy still exists, but I've no doubts that somebody has it, tucked in a box with notes and awards and yearbooks we can't bear to part with just yet.

Recalling this makes me not only miss my dears, but is making me think my Saturday 12 years later deserves its own dedication.

Ode to a Saturday

There is something to be said
for sleeping in, then lazily making breakfast,
for tea with honey and a touch of milk,
for pretty skirts purchased with discount codes,
for watching the garden grow,
for tea parties with
fancy dresses, high heels, and hats
and big dogs sniffing tiny babies,
for cooking with a wooden spoon in one hand,
a glass of wine in the other,
for books that should have been read
a long, long time ago
and catalogs fresh out of the mailbox,
for teams celebrating goals
and the roar of the crowd,
for the smell of spring, herbs,
and a hot, soapy shower.
There is something to be said
for love, hope, peace, and joy,
all warmly felt on a Saturday afternoon.

-rlk7m, 5.12.12