91 lines
2.0 KiB
Plaintext
91 lines
2.0 KiB
Plaintext
|
Stealing Time
|
||
|
|
2022-04-04
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
***
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
The bike path has been sprayed
|
||
|
|
with meteors, brown and burnished
|
||
|
|
and leaking to yellow, to naught.
|
||
|
|
Trees have done their part to furnish
|
||
|
|
the path
|
||
|
|
with each and every fallen branch
|
||
|
|
they could spare. The flags are frayed,
|
||
|
|
marking the entrance to Dead End Shrine,
|
||
|
|
sandwiched between two rainy days
|
||
|
|
and welcoming this stolen time.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
This stolen time,
|
||
|
|
I've come to find,
|
||
|
|
is the only place where I can live.
|
||
|
|
Leaving work early,
|
||
|
|
wings unfurling
|
||
|
|
to mark a time loop created,
|
||
|
|
these bike trips where far too long I've left
|
||
|
|
to not come home covered in muck and sweat
|
||
|
|
and yet somehow never do,
|
||
|
|
the severed hours after bedtime
|
||
|
|
when comes to me all these rhymes,
|
||
|
|
rest of family long self-sedated.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
I don't like this waiting.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
I don't like the parting
|
||
|
|
when comes time for my love to once more return home.
|
||
|
|
"Please don't go.
|
||
|
|
Either stay
|
||
|
|
or take
|
||
|
|
me with you."
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Every natural process of life
|
||
|
|
that I've ever shied
|
||
|
|
away from
|
||
|
|
becomes
|
||
|
|
less able to terrify
|
||
|
|
with her at my side.
|
||
|
|
I've made my peace
|
||
|
|
with the regular bleed
|
||
|
|
whether from womb or breast,
|
||
|
|
the growth of velvet patches
|
||
|
|
along my hips and chest,
|
||
|
|
the hot flashes,
|
||
|
|
the persistent desire
|
||
|
|
to rip open my seams
|
||
|
|
and throw my guts to the fire.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
But my brain refuses to cooperate with me.
|
||
|
|
It's stealing time,
|
||
|
|
stealing memories.
|
||
|
|
I know that forgetfulness is my domain,
|
||
|
|
but there's still some recollections
|
||
|
|
I'd like to remain.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
There's still some reflections
|
||
|
|
I don't recognize.
|
||
|
|
Stealing someone's body,
|
||
|
|
looking out through their eyes,
|
||
|
|
wearing like a coat their spirit, their life.
|
||
|
|
It makes sense in the moment,
|
||
|
|
the logic of how their life goes,
|
||
|
|
but I wake up and I wonder
|
||
|
|
why
|
||
|
|
this stranger is so vivid
|
||
|
|
but not my own exploits in the Outside.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
I promised her that when came
|
||
|
|
the day
|
||
|
|
for me to give up this vessel and die,
|
||
|
|
I'd let her climb into my bed with me
|
||
|
|
instead of kneeling at my bedside.
|
||
|
|
Emulating that which my mother
|
||
|
|
did, but trading one body for another.
|
||
|
|
One last breach out of the womb.
|
||
|
|
One last parent-induced cry.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
And after we leave, I promise you
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
I'll make up for the stolen time.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
***
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
|