The Clock

The Clock-5/16/14
Emily Sturgill

The hum of the fan
the tick-tock of the
hand

as minutes fly by,
into hours
in the blink
of an eye.

then the entire world,
it floats
it floats on by…

The hum hum hum
of the fan
and
the tick-tick-tick
of the clock.

minutes feel like
a life-time
ago.

just try to tune
into the quiet
though,

before it passes
you by.

sdrawkacb

sdrawkacb,

backwards, i suppose, is just the wrong way

to go. You can never go sdrawkacb, only forwards, 

like they hands on the face clock, the numbers, they rock-

in only one direction.

sometimes, history is a place i’ve visited briefly-

but clearly i no longer “fit”in.

the round peg in the square hole,

i do not know which way to go…

was looking at an old binder of pen pal letters,

from the early 1990’s, the years prior to me, wandering

off of the edge and getting lost in “crazy”.

I found one letter i never even opened, postmarked from 21 years ago.

i opened it only to re-coil

from the teenage angst i found there.

part silliness/part love-struck/teenage hormones/running amok.

Sometimes it’s best to never look too closely,

over your shoulder…

it’s best to focus on the clocks forward hands.

sdrawkacb, backwards, sdrawkacb, makes a unusual

and crunchy sound, like the trampling of leaves, or

the sparks of logs on a fire.

Why bother looking backwards, when it just causes,

resentment and sorrow?

Life is too short.

keep the good, and ditch the bad.

no point in regretting things you cannot change.

no use, looking for the missing piece of jigsaw

puzzle you lost eons ago.