She looks at me, crystal-eyed
She is Jodie Foster post Panic Room
calm voice, stoic face
“So what is time to you?”
“How do you feel about time?”
In my mind I think about
the million and one things I could do
with my time that do not include
talking about time, but I say
is never enough
is not within my control
And we let time pass
between us
the silent pauses like change
falling through pocket holes
lost in the seams
ghostly jingles.
And I take my time
because it seems I can
and wonder if I could be so brave as
to book a flight on Orbitz
fill in to and from airport codes
dates and times of arrival,
departure, while cells multiply
and synapses fail, loving spouse
in a circle of strangers, bound
by truncated calendars
And I take my time
look out the fancy glass walls from
the fifth floor with no washroom
cars passing, pedestrians crossing
purple post-its waiting for my
Three Big Things. “This is the beginning
of taking control,” she says
as she waits...
And I take my time
(Homework detention again)
And I take my time
(They took the tubes out and she breathed her last)
And I take my time
(Is it really necessary for subjects and verbs to agree?)
And I take my time
(No more post-therapy hair loss)
And I take my time –
Until, I suppose, time takes me.

(Previously published by Wax Poetry)



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