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