POETRY
Time Tip-Toes
A free verse poem
Published in
Jan 26, 2022
Two empty hands made of cracked
porcelain fidget-twist a tarnished
ring beside a golden candelabra
whose melted stubs are squat and tired.
In the broken mirror’s kaleidoscope,
her sharpened face tells splintered stories,
eyes on the past and the ghost of a man
who left cold, empty air
where his shadow once stood.
The calendar on the wall has the yellow heart
of hands that have gone still and smooth.
Time tip-toes by, quiet and afraid.
Author’s Note: this poem is in response to Christine Graves’s These Three Things weekly prompt for January 22–28.
