the time * 9/23/13

There used to be the time

when I was two or four or seven.

I would sometimes find myself adrift within

and get a sense for those times.

In the beginning, it seemed abstract,

just like what is obey and why is there family.

But memory seemed to say,

two years old in time was two , and four was four

and seven not old enough. 

In memory, these were passages 

that taught their value by living through them.

Time, this way, had many benchmarks to reach

and then, how come no more?

Examples, when can I learn to bicycle ride?

When, to jump in the pool?

How old to stay up late?

When until I can be home alone?

All these things about my age had time.

Oh and time had these things called years.

Far to hard to understand

yet years would come to pass.

And I would have memories that matched.

Time had years.

Years that were, the measure of me.

Then there were the times that had seasons.

I guess they were always there.

I somehow lived through a few

without much notice.

But then they came and seasons meant a lot to me.

Seasons had winters and snow

while summers had freedom and play.

Seasons remembered were the measure for me,

Like last winter, I got to go tobogganing

and this year, to shovel snow,

two summer's ago, the park was home,

and this past summer, swimming lessons by myself.

Time had these demonstrations called seasons,

and seasons became the measure me.

Then there were the times called months.

Many months together meant a year.

Sure, they were always there,

but I never really cared for them.

Months had dates and obligations,

especially in school-bound ways.

For instance, September to start again,

December for the break.

Months had measures like age and grade,

dental checks and hearing tests and later, sports.

In all these ways, months were tied to them.

Time was this way called months

and months then became my measure.

But time had this other thing called days.

And days had anticipation and personality.

Days felt like my clothes, when time was my closet.

There were Tuesdays and Fridays

and worst of all Mondays.

There were odd things called holidays

and even leap year days.

Went to high school with someone

who just turned four!

Days were more livable, and indeed a friend in time.

Oh but time had things called hours,

and they too had meaning.

Hours were pesky and always in a row.

Hours had me moving and finding

appropriate places to be to match.

Hours had searchlights and others' demands.

Hours had hell and damn

and me looking to dodge a few.

Yes, of course, there were minutes.

But I had always sensed them as private,

like farts or secret thoughts

that never would become spoken words.

But minutes were also moments.

And moments had events, seductive and delicious.

Minutes could be stolen

and minutes had their one-of-a-kind.

Secretly, minutes became my diary, 

my life, and my time.

It seems only recent for me

that time had introduced us.

Seconds, of course, were always there,

like the hidden mysteries of nature

or like the subtle world of insects around me.

But seconds were not really an ideal fit to words.

It always felt stupid to take minutes to talk about

events that took just seconds to occur.

Seconds were really only the stuff of attention spans,

that is 'until seconds discovered,

lead to doorways out and full-blown distractions.

Seconds were a breath as a fresh air friend.

Seconds knew what minutes pondered.

And best of all, seconds showed me

the belly side about the gossip of time.

Now there are newly nanos

and time-as-constant becomes a myth.

Who was this masked thing called time anyways?

Who is meeting the now, and just ran out!