The Moment You Were

You can steal back Time
and protect her like she is
your long lost twin.
Time was born the moment you were.
You were babies together.
Your mother painted your toenail red
to tell you and Time apart.
You were toddlers together,
wearing matching clothes.
Time always kept her outfit pristine
and yours was covered in dirt.
Time didn’t have time to stir in the soil.
She couldn’t pause.
You were children together.
Time learned how to ride a bike
before you,
but you sprinted behind,
almost able to catch up.
How Time laughed.
She lived to leave you in her dust.
You were in middle school together.
Your classmates called Time
“The Good-looking Twin.”
They loved how vast she was.
You forgot you were born exactly the same.
Time went on and on and on.
Forward.
Without you.
Time is now far away.
Your memories of her are faint
and as light as a second.
Time shows up on your doorstep with a black eye,
all her possessions in a duffel bag.
Time will take you back if you will do the same.
“I will die if you die,” she says.

 
Colleen June Glatzel

Colleen June Glatzel

Colleen June Glatzel is based in Waukesha, Wisconsin. She’s the author of Hey, Joey Journal. Her poetry has been published in Blue Heron Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, Cherry House Press, TreeHouse Arts, 5th Wall Press and WORDPEACE. When Colleen’s not writing, she’s painting, studying numerology or dealing antiques.