"If I Could Fire Time"
I regret to inform you that I’m letting you go –
you haven’t upheld your duties thus far.
You listed punctuality as one of your strengths, but
you never arrive when asked. You race
like a dragonfly on a lake, but your grip won’t
protect me from slipping. I didn’t give you
nights off, but you’re gone when my eyes
close. Lightning bolts bind me to my bed and use
my veins as wires to play reruns I’ve tried
to burn. I thrash and throb while thunder fills
me like a rice grain expanded. But I’m not there –
I can’t be – it was so long ago. I try to think
of something pleasant, but you won’t turn
off the storm. You pull translucent faces inside.
Their breath is a river gushing over my head
and their voices seal the ice six feet above.
It’s your job to drive them back to the years
they come from, but I lie on a bed of bones
with skeletons spilling from my pores and you can’t
even offer a Band-Aid. You may be fast, but you’re
flying in spirals and I’m tumbling down the trail you’ve
left behind. But I regret to say that I don’t have
the authority to fire you, so I’ll shut up and let you
drag me until it’s your turn to let me go.