In the everyday world, things change. Layers build up and soon the landscape is irrevocably altered. But not so much with internal time. We latch onto specific ages which become fulcrums for everything that comes after. Ask your spouse, a friend, even your co-worker if there’s a particular age they feel like they are. Ask them what age they return to over and over when thinking of the past. The age will vary from person to person but they will always mention a specific one.
11, 21, 40, and 49 are my fulcrums.
Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow
their purple-black sweetness tastes like kindergarten.
Children run in circles, chase each other and their shadows.
They are starfish, arms flung wide. Spinning, spinning in place,
they laugh as the ground rises to embrace them.
They are sun worshipers and wade into studded green
thickets searching for the deep-bloodied fruit.
Ready they are with scratched hands, stained faces,
their shirt bottoms heavy with sacrificial fruit.
[ii. today will be posted tomorrow.]