Sunday Dinner at Tuesday Breakfast

Feeding the birds, by accident I spill the seed - 

The container that held it has lost its top.

The seed has fallen everywhere.

It is suddenly Sunday on a Tuesday for the birds,

The all-you-can-eat buffet wide open with extra helpings: 

The small beaks of piebald sunflower seeds,

Florets of thistle, all the regular millet and milo,

Cracked corn, some dried fruit bits, and old grain bread.

The day, which had been regular, is suddenly new.
I will not be able to gather back the seed before it is gone,

Happy on its voyage into the air, lifted beyond my reach,
The sparrows, doves, house finches so easily given to,

Their sounds becoming contentment in place of wing-flutter,
The mourning of the doves resonant with probing happiness.

Had this been one of those other disasters, a dam bursting,
A volcano in its moment, an avalanche in the high world,

Things would be different. But today, this small version,
The tragedy of this minute galaxy and its stars

Breaks the day that was, the day that would have been,
The day that will not be, and instead sends this replacement.

We live the understudy day that had been lurking underneath,

This possibility, this Tuesday, which has found its way.

~ Alberto Rios

This poem can be found in Rios's lovely book A Small Story About the Sky. This would be a great start to an exploration of this poet's many offerings.