The hands of the clock like scissors
with the passing of the hours
slicing nicks and lacerations into my
paper frail frame and skin
and I took it like the man
I thought I was supposed to be
and I let the hands of the clock
stitch my many cuts
and started over again.
I never thought of time as a friend
in fact, I never thought it even as friendly
in any sense because I lost count
of how many times you ran
with your hand on the suture
to comfort me and then retract
every sentiment you uttered
the night before
ripping the stitches from mea
and exposing my nerves
to the electric sky
sending tidal waves
of dark, chaotic pain and depression
down my every ending
punctuated with rage.
You ran like a scared child
and disappeared like wonder does with age
Because as time went on I forgot about you.
But I didn’t really forget about you
because you were there when the child in me
saw times of need and what it was to be
The sins of the father now rest in me
and the times he was gone have taken deep root
in my psyche.
And so while I may have forgotten you
and what you meant
That panic in my gut when I think people
are getting ready to exit the scene
You are there.
You are there along with a long list of people
who have done what you did
but it’s never quite the same as you.
So, after three years of healing
I still struggle but I’d given up on you
The hands on the clock
have washed away your face
and allowed the cracks in my heart to mend
And it’s funny because, when you’re looking for something
you always seem less apt to find it
as if seeking it out creates a lacuna of sorts
But when you stop looking
sometimes the things you want to find
they find you.
And I found you.
Don’t get me wrong
I have no notion that we’ll ever be close
to being close again
The scars that I bear still ooze blood occasionally
and my heart understands forgiveness
but not to that degree or for that amount of time
spent wondering if you’d forgotten me.
And now I wonder if I care.
Obviously more than I expected
since I sat down and wrote this
Knowing what I know now
I wonder if anything I do will heal me truly
Or if I’m damned to let the clock tick on
and create new wounds to heal.