Time doesn’t fly
It trudges
crawls
on hands and knees, Einstein’s relativity
damned
Each day,
a brand new marathon
like Pheidippides’.
And yet
Life passes, suddenly but with
agonizing slowness as I lay on the floor
amidst the trappings of babyhood and moments passed.
You accidentally gag yourself
with your fingers, and I reflect
on eight months of change
Changes like Bowie,
gone too soon
In its place
a real live boy who thinks
like Descartes thought
and therefore is.
Cogito ergo sum.
Already
he needs me less.
A child for eternity
as the decades creep along;
eight months, a lifetime.
The relentless march of seconds
seem to stretch all the way
to the horizon,
with you
And yet
Eight months, gone
and my baby
baby no longer
is a person.
Royal Rose 