SUNDAY QUARANTINE

something about the strange way it serves
as beginning and end, cross of rest and ready,

or maybe because it lives as praise in the throat
of almost every history and is the namesake
of every god,

or because it’s the only time breakfast
tastes like breakfast and not
like jet fuel, and this cheap sofa

actually seems soft enough to break the bottom
half of my face into a smile, even in exile.