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As these days all melt into themselves,
their colors bleeding
from a rainbow cone left in the sun,
as we stand frozen like confused soldiers
saluting our brothers and sisters
in paper uniforms,
it dawned on me just now
that Time herself
is in pretty rough shape too.
Chopped to pieces like wounded confetti,
her ribbons lay scattered across my floor.
Before we began this biblical freeze,
I have to confess
I wasn’t very nice to her.
Like a smug hibachi chef
I diced Time up into morsels,
snacking on her as I pleased —
Oh, got a free minute here,
I’ll just scroll my feed while this barista steams my milk,
Or – Let me fire off a
thoughtless response before this more important thing begins.
Or – I bet if I timed it just right, I can
squeeze a dutiful call to my grandma
through this window between trains.
But now —
now is no longer then.
I get to watch these shadows
crawl slowly across the room,
the temperature warming and cooling my skin
as each morning arches and yawns
into twilight —
and I get to watch Time herself
as she stitches together again
without grievance without grudge
she sits up from the floor,
her eyes meet mine with a smile that says
where you been?