Time is Everything. Poetry by Kelly Airhart
Time Is Everything:
The warm sweet cinnamon coffee trickles over my thumb in the sixth hour of the morning.
The gas station attendant exchanges no words with me, and I am not bothered.
Clouds hug the mountains as the sun struggles to come out from the clouds. I feel this in my soul.
My eyes battle the heavy lids attempting to conquer their inadequate livelihood. It is a war where no one really wins.
A quarter of a mile turns into a million on the drive home. I play positive affirmations and breathe deeply. "I am more than my day job."
Freedom is waiting for me in the meadow, a paycheck is waiting for me at my computer.
The house is quiet. My mind is loud.
Orange tabby tail rubs my leg and I smile.
Sips of coffee fail to wake me up but warm my body.
One day my writing will fill my bank account the way it fills my soul.
If I could only make the time. If I could only find the time. What a weird journey that is, the search of time.
Time is all around us, but it seems so sparse.
A mother who has buried a child knows the value of every fleeting moment.
My son would breathe in this moment, as much as this moment continues to steal my breath.
Curious thoughts of gratitude and grief trickle down my spine, much like the coffee to my thumb.
I live in a bizarre universe. So empty. So full. So amazing. So sad. So is life.
What would he be like, my Elijah, if he were here.
4 years old and a wavy head of hair.
I stare into my computer.
Is this what I want? To pay my bills? Data entry? Quality assurance?
What assurance do I have to this quality of life?
Deep breaths again. Positive affirmations. This could help me fund my art. This could help me fund my writing, if I can find the time!
TIME is an ever pressing matter in a life I never imagined I lived. One without my child. One with a disorder that they call post traumatic.
TIME is a character in a novel that evades my fingertips because I have appointments for children who lost their brother, and their peace of mind, and YET people find me dramatic to say that death is still affecting my life four years later.
TIME has stolen from me and given to me in cycles that seem to be as vast as the stars in the galaxy where there is no need for seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, or years.
And all of this before 7am.
Paycheck is in the mail.
Time is not irrelevant, it is everything.