Time/Space

He is a scientist
What’s more
An engineer
And he can hear
The drum, the thrum,
The humming of the gears

And he can tell
(Like the top was popped)
What’s underneath
What’s buzzing in my ears

One time he told me
Time
The line
Is not a line
It slips and slides
Like gears that grind
Until their teeth
Are powder fine
Until their teeth are gone

I know that song
My active head
I lie abed
I’m lost in time
Not powder fine
Not faded by
These years
These gears
My teeth, they grind
Until they’re flat
They make
A line
And all the points are gone

And now I ride a bus to school
A bus that takes me
Back in time
Past places that are not in line
Past buildings where I took up space
The place
They ground me down
The face that I have found
I’m bound
Lost in a sideways eight

I think on what he said
My bed
My teeth
My gears
My years
My head

I hope time is not linear

So she hears what I say to her
The girl trapped in the infinite
The halted time of being hit
I whisper to her not to quit

“You’ll be okay
You’ll be okay
You’ll be okay
Okay”
I say

Until we pull away

by Heather Emme

To read all the #verseday poems, click here. To read my twitter poems, click here.

Three Hundred and Sixty-Five Days

Pocketwatch_cutaway_drawingThree hundred and sixty-five days
Endless endings and pine fresh starts
Exploding in dust, they pass by
And we ticker tick count them off

The inconstant metronome of
Three hundred and sixty-five days
Unremembered, skin that touched skin
And eyes that met and fell and met

The ways in which we sacrificed
Our minutes to laughter and sleep
Three hundred and sixty-five days
Is almost nothing, almost all

Winnowed by loss and ecstasy
We sing out loud so we can’t hear
The final ticking seconds of
Three hundred and sixty-five days

by Heather Emme

To read all the #verseday poems, click here. To read my twitter poems, click here.