The Change of Time
clouds are moving
across the eye
it’ll rain soon
on a Sunday
in August
September
October
November
December
January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
the funeral was
what it was
i never left
beneath the shade
of an old magnolia
the snow fell
that year
a peek of pastel
beneath the leaves
mixed with tinsel
and tea
the spit of watermelon seeds
a trace of wheels in the dirt
the imprint of soles on grass
heavy now
the sound of sirens
in the distance
the crickets at night
the static of the TV
timer’s going off
phone’s ringing
the sliding doors opening
and closing
like the oven
dishes dropping in the sink
loading and unloading
the wash
and it’s Christmas already
Thanksgiving next week
the New Year nearly
then it’s Easter again
somebody’s birthday
the one in August
when the clocks fell back
an hour
less light
in a day
TL