Time Steals
by Michael Feld Simon

Thief with padded, silent feet,
a cat’s feet. Time is blamed but
never caught, never held.
Putting holes in Memory’s pockets.
Keepsakes, like breadcrumbs,
get eaten as they drop.

Older, with more memory than future,
we try to make time flow slowly.
Then, with a photo, years rush
into moments before
falling through a hole.

Was that taken three
years ago or four?
Was this her first time
in the pumpkin patch?
So much has flown by.

Yet when you’re young,
waiting to be old enough,
the sands seem to hang
forever in the hourglass.



 

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