Monday.

You paint each nail a separate color, like the rainbow, and laugh with your forehead on your kneecaps.
You wash the dishes with warm water and lemon soap.
You cross your ankles- Right over left, and forget to tie your laces when you leave the front door.

Tuesday.

You braid your hair in little rows and talk louder than usual, with your eyes shut tight, Your lashes leaving shadows along the edges of your eyelids.
You burn your feet on the dirt outside the front door and remember you're supposed to call home.

Wednesday.

You fill your coffee halfway up with cream and just barely make it on time in the morning. You grin and the lines around your eyes bunch up like tiny flowers.
You swing your legs, back and forth, and forget about the boy with the moon under his smile.

Thursday.

You wear rain boots with purple speckles and get red lipstick on every cup you touch.
You tie bracelets on your wrists and forget to pick up the dry cleaning.

Friday.

You drop plastic pearls around your neck and pretend you are a Queen.
You forget to cry until you are underneath fluorescent lights with the sink still running.

Saturday.

You never get out of bed.
You paint your nails green, like summer, and pull your hair away from the nape of your neck.
You dream about teeth falling out on white tiles and forget when you wake up.

Sunday.

You let the shower burn your skin until your shoulders are red, like the plants in the next door neighbors windowsill, and lie on the floor because the bed makes you feel sick.
You leave a message at the old house and stack cups up in the sink, like a tower.