What about today
Could make yesterday worthwhile?
I tune to the morning news
As I twist the radio dial.

He says it's going to be a pleasant week
In spite of things.
The cold will dissipate
Flying off on frost-bitten wings.

He says this like the sun will cure me,
Touching everything with a long, gentle sweep.
He says this like woes would melt away,
Into a never-stirring sleep,

Like there wasn't a tornado in my midwest,
Like I didn't wake in a storm of sleet,
Like I didn't learn to walk the ice
In blistered bare feet.

No, today's just a frigid day, he says.
Get up; the world's not cancelled, not delayed.
Taking the place of the alarm I should have set,
He ensures the day's already made.

I'm going to get up, and he won't know.
I'm going to dress, and he won't have a clue.
When I return to this walled-in world,
I'll have the same bullshit things to do.

I'll cook rice while I should be mourning.
I'll set the table when I should be crying.
The wind will meanwhile be free to make its moan,
Almost a sigh in loss before dying.

The wind dies all the time, you know,
And the weatherman will only sometimes mention.
His cohorts on the other news
Treat death as accepted convention.

And he keeps talking about tomorrow,
That blasted high-pressure system out west!
Because that's what I want to hear?
Because that's news that suits me best?

It's coming whether I know or not,
Whether or not I even care,
Whether or not I'm busy
With other pressures I need to bear.

I'm occupied with a whole other kind of world
That no one can predict, neither you nor I.
I'm occupied with a different time
And a long-unanswered why.

I silence the forecast
And what the anchor has to say.
What about tomorrow
Could justify today?