Stitching Time's Ankles Together
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Stitching Time’s Ankles Together
I caught Time mid-stride, all calves and calendar,
sprinting barefoot through my to-do list,
and thought, what if I hemmed him in?
So I fetched my grandmother’s thimble,
threaded it with good intentions (the color of “Monday”),
and crouched behind the hour hand like a tailor with delusions of grandeur.
Time pretended not to notice,
whistling elevator music, checking his watch
(which is just himself, very meta).
I aimed for the ankles - neat cross-stitch,
nothing aggressive, just a polite hobble
so he’d stop outrunning my ambition and sit awhile for coffee.
But Time has excellent cardio.
He laughed in leap year, flicked lint from his lapel of seconds,
and dragged my tidy seam down the boulevard of afternoon.
Now I’m here with a spool of “eventually” unraveling at my feet,
needle stuck in the cuff of yesterday,
explaining to the mirror that this was always performance art.
Truth is, Time doesn’t need tripping.
He needs dancing with,
a little less chase, a little more waltz.
Still, if you see him limping,
just slightly,
that was me.
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This ekphrastic poem's title is the eighth line from one of my earlier poems, that poem was made up of incomplete sentences, that somehow made great titles.
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We all appreciate your attempts to slow down time, Especially me on today my birthday. I like the sewing metaphor, well done! 🩵
ReplyDeleteI need time to slow down too, Chris. I love the idea of this poem. But Time can’t be caught and I can imagine him laughing in leap year and flicking lint from his lapel of seconds.
ReplyDeleteThe 2 last verses are my favourite
ReplyDeleteHappy you dropped by my blog
Much love
Love, love your poem. It continues to surprise and delight right up to its ending.
ReplyDeleteWhat a creative personalization of Time. I feel the passing very deeply. We can be gentle with ourselves after all. And this is my favorite part:
ReplyDeleteTruth is, Time doesn’t need tripping.
He needs dancing with,
a little less chase, a little more waltz.
Time personified what a great idea... this is very emotional for me... time always stretches forward (until it doesn't) and compresses in the rear-view mirror until we realize it was eons ago.
ReplyDeleteDidn't Wordsworth call those stitches Spots? Well, he was no tailor, and besides landscape is harder to seam than Time's dingadong day. AFA stiches, I just wish Time would let them out a size or two to make room for Old Daddy.
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed this. Clever wordplay.
ReplyDelete