Written by Jennifer Wise
What is this?
How it performs its purpose like the rest of them—
Years after years.
I’ve suddenly become
An adult with an attic of boxed thoughts;
Folded memories separated into categories.
Here is an image of the Washington Monument.
Here are the dolls I dressed and mothered;
A seven-year-old with great responsibilities.
The hourglasses conform to a line,
Weighted to their places with the finality of a tree,
Birthday candles dripping down my mortality.
I barely have time to slow at one
Before another shows up, drizzling days.
I scorn their appearance, but history knows no exception;
The ruler will lengthen
Until death pulls me into its bone-cave
And the hourglasses explode their granules
Text © Jennifer Wise
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