by Marianne Brems
Vanishing Time
Small jewels of seconds
then minutes
suddenly run out the door
leaving behind hours and days
without troubling to clean up
the weeks spilled all over the floor.
These weeks left in a heap
become the months then years
whose destinations
we can never uncover
in any time that follows.
***
Beginner’s Mind
In wonder, his hand retreats
from his father’s grasp.
He stamps his small foot
askew from his direction,
then leaps to follow
this new trajectory
towards his own mecca.
With a fierce jerk,
over he bends,
looks back between his legs.
“Yaaaaah” escapes
from an inner drummer.
He somersaults forward
onto wet cut grass
sticking in clumps
all down his back.
A yellow moth
flutters overhead
just out of reach.
He heaves up his arms.
Spreads his novice fingers.
Runs open-mouthed
in wild pursuit
as he grasps fistfuls of sky.
That opaque eyes
and listless steps
could stay at bay
a little longer
before mannered ways
and distant doubts
tame a mighty universe
all his own.
About the photographer: Anisha Johnson was born in Washington state and now lives in Southern California. After being homeschooled by her mother, she graduated high school in 2018 and took a gap year. She will attend Mount Holyoke College this fall to study computer science, film, and creative writing. Her hobbies include reading, playing the piano, transcribing music, speaking French and pretending she has a good accent, and traveling.
