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Time thins

I leave in hours, not weeks or days or months. Hours. I’m going back to a country I called home at the start of the summer. I came to a country I thought I could never really love again at the start of the summer. But love is fickle, love is funny. Love slips away from you when you least expect it, and then sneaks back at you from around a different corner. I’m in love, desperately in love, with the good old USA. Me of the apathetic patriotism. I want to burrow into the cornfields of Iowa. I want to go try my hand at being a starlet in the silicone valleys of LA. I want to climb the storied steps of Congress and play with politics. I want to go hunt wolves with Sarah Palin and dally on Broadway with Nathan Lane. I’m scared of India. Scared of its expanses. Its empty fields and its crowded streets. I’m scared of winter’s fog. I want to sit in the sunlit here a little longer.

But, still, I pack my bags and go.

It is at the edges
that time thins.
Time which had been
dense and viscous
as amber suspending
intentions like bees
unseizes them. A
humming begins,
apparently coming
from stacks of
put–off things or
just in back. A
racket of claims now,
as time flattens. A
glittering fan of things
competing to happen,
brilliant and urgent
as fish when seas
retreat.

Kay Ryan

One Comment

  1. Lee says:

    “Im wich you.”