I decided to post this poem because I have been thinking a lot about time and how it affects relationships, whether they be friendships or acquaintances. I think about how so often we don't talk about time. We avoid talking about it because it encompasses the unknown like nothing else does, and that scares us. So often, due to this avoidance, relationships dissipate without a trace, as the prospect of that time ending sometimes inhibits us from revealing true emotion. While I don't have an answer, or some sort of strategy this week, writing this poem helped me to visualize my thoughts, to grab onto them, and understand that these feelings are real, they are valid. I thought about people who I haven't talked to in awhile. I thought about conversations I never wanted to end, and how it feels as time winds down and you search for any last details to tell that person about your day, or questions to ponder with them. Those moments of lingering conversation are what inspired this poem, and the fear of that time potentially ending.
the last conversations
time, as we discuss it and its children
all of its wrinkled grandmothers
with turquoise eye shadow and
shirts with dancing roses,
in murmurs and hesitations
we flutter around time like the dust
sweeping through the sun's fingers
every pace to the left or right
sends a moan across the wooden planks
echoing as we remember the life
this room once had
time and time again
we forget that time is a candle
illuminating the darkness
despite its own fear of that, and of suffocation,
warming these goosebumped walls
as we get caught up in the smell of
primer and vanilla, time settles some more
and beneath floorboards, an eternity,
of time
all just beneath our feet
as we talk about time
