Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Word Wednesday: Lost Hours

Happy Word Wednesday! I hope you have caught up on your Planet Word episodes! If not don't worry, I'm only up to episode 3; it's all about swears! I'm only 15 mins into it, but so far it's just as facinating as the last!

But on to this week. Did you know that April is World Poetry Month? How exciting! I love poetry, but I have to admit I've been neglecting the genre a little bit lately in favour of short stories. Still, World Poetry Month is as good excuse as any (in fact it's probably the best excuse) to get back into it!

Here's a poem I wrote just now, sitting outside in the lovely cool autumn sunshine, eating cream cheese on crackers and drinking Lemon Lime and Bitters ( I figured one in the afternoon is just a little too early for a gin and tonic). It's my little lament to the death of summer for a another year, although I do love autumn just as much, if not more. I hope you enjoy it!

Lost Hours

It starts to get dark
at the beginning of April
darkness folds around me like the
furling up of orchid petals
like the closing of hands
I'm caught in the dome of some god's
barely touching palms
and though time cannot stray from that ever
continuing line
it feels like there is less of it
to take from each day

the worst thing for a person like me
a young person
is to know that you have less time
we clutch at the minutes, and the hours
and the days as if we were starving
and they were edible
they would taste like red liquorice
pistachios, broccoli and ash
ans we would fill our mouths with time until our
bellies swell and we become cavernous
with no sense of urgency for anything
other than the feast

It is the end of summer
and the habits of those who equate time to
the number of daylight hours
begin to retract
they move quicker, more erraticly
they are less likely to talk to strangers
they don't leave their cars parked out on the street
the old pull the darkness around their hollow bones
to keep out the cold
and the young dive into it, devouring lost hours
they squirrel them away under their skirts and leather jackets
eating them up, saving them for later

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