Morning Post, April 10, 2015




When I travel in time

It is always to the past

And never to some fateful or auspicious day.


No.  I land in some snowy morning

When school has been cancelled

And the kids spend all day in pajamas

Watching cartoons


Or on some Tuesday or Thursday morning

When a warm, slow rain has washed the streets of the town

And in an office, where ceiling fans turn slowly

And dripping umbrellas rest in a stand in the foyer

Where a man in white shirt and tie

Finds that all of his meetings have been cancelled

And he spends an hour cleaning off his desk

And looking through his window

At the scarlet taillight streaks on the glossy road.


When I travel in time

It is always to the past

To some place where time itself feels like a robe.


Copyright 2015

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1 Response to Morning Post, April 10, 2015

  1. One has to reach a certain level of maturity to appreciate such time travel experiences.

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