Timetable

 

When I was young, I gazed at a tree
and knew if I didn’t start climbing,

I’d never get another chance. My smaller body
was in a red and black dress, white tights

that snagged on the branches. By the time
the adults took notice, my feet

were above their heads, the reaching
fingers. In my mind, that moment is

a woman slipping through

a pinhole—tomorrow when she wakes up,
the world is gone. Something will be missing.

In one of my dreams, a high school teacher
approaches me and says, here, write this down,

write this down, only so much wind can
arrive through a pinhole
. A pause, and I said, right,

only so many birds can survive
in a young girl’s Sunday dress
.

 

 

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