Time

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Not a fast lane
with pit stops
and vending machines.

Not a bird with wings
or the moon pulling
on our water bodies
or the clockwork
of your old neighbor’s
ignition at daybreak.

Not the chirpy reminder
for your next meeting
or to take your meds

but this: Bendy, swirly,
circular, whole,

round as a ferris wheel
or loopy as a wild ride,
a dipping and rising,
a sliding and falling,
a container of memory,
past and present portals

beckoning through smell,
or dream, image, touch.

For a while, I tried keeping
a timeline on the wall–
butcher-block paper
and scotch tape,
dates and events
and pivotal moments

(aren’t they all?)

and I studied,
a middle-schooler
cramming for a history test.

When the rabbit hole
and the magic door,
the kitchen table
of my childhood,
other lives I had no right
to remember

came rushing towards me–

ladders without rungs,
a pair of expanding lungs,
so many tumbling currents–

Time taught me only this:

Swim. You can swim.
Surface. Float. Breathe.

3 thoughts on “Time

  1. daniel says:

    the swirling wonder of the moment, woven with memory and aliveness now–brought to life by your energized words and rhythms…
    wonderful

    Like

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