the markers didn’t know they were marking time.
as the green and yellow colors colored my hands and belly.
and the picture my mom took of me
on the table in Milwaukee would somehow stand the test of time.
we lost so many pictures but we didn’t lose that one.
I should confess that the markers were actually paint but
their effect was the same.
I wonder how many art supplies got lost or thrown out.
just last summer I got rid of more, in an effort to
“declutter” and “reorganize.”
the materials of my childhood are gone, hiding in
the gutter of my mind. the markers marked time but
they weren’t strong enough to slow it.
and there we were, on the table, covered in neon
paint. innocent of the passing. innocent of the time.
