Saturday spritzes its cologne,
fresh market trips and onion domes,
the awnings coated green with lime;
we’ve washed them now a thousand times.
Saturday noon, a silly smell,
grassy thrill of a young schoolgirl,
church tiles like artwork that won’t sell;
they’ve washed them now a thousand times.
Saturday evening, dab of musk,
time to take off the weekday husk,
dried out hands, etched lyrical lines;
I’ve washed them now a thousand times.
Saturday midnight, red flare blooms,
streetlights smolder and feelings loom,
my mind’s a saucer soaked with grime;
you’ve washed it now for the last time.
A Kyrielle is a French form of rhyming poetry written in quatrains (a stanza consisting of 4 lines), and each quatrain contains a repeating line or phrase as a refrain (usually appearing as the last line of each stanza). Each line within the poem consists of only eight syllables. There is no limit to the amount of stanzas a Kyrielle may have, but three is considered the accepted minimum.