Nota Bene

Some days, (some,
there's that smoothest,
blandest, easiest
of all words to compose
with, some), some days
are mere placeholders
for all the real days, sharp

and broken and particular
that crop up later, like teeth
erupting, like frost-heaved stones
from the muck and loam
of boggy fields of memory:
those few days, the clear
hard, sharp, special,

eventful, episodic
datable days to remember.
Nonetheless, I'm reminded,
on some of these some days,
that most days are some days
and need to be loved,
even if only some.