On My Baby and the Passage of Time by Shannon Greenstein

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.

 

Shannon Frost Greenstein resides in Philadelphia with her children and soulmate, who keep things from descending into cat-lady territory. She comes up when you Google her. Tweets at @mrsgreenstein.
Facebook: Shannon Frost Greenstein
Twitter: @mrsgreenstein
Instagram: zarathustra_speaks

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