Poetry
Time Between The Wars
At the event horizon, time asks nothing
as it folds into space’s curvature.
You keep asking for a continuous present
which is far out of anyone’s control.
If the world were fair, the wind would only
break the windows of those who deserve it.
fall Spring is for salad, winter for soup, fall
intermediate. Does summer have a choice?
The laundry like time, unfolds it’s own version
of chaotic misrule. Turn off the dryer.
In every biography, events line up:
birth, schooling, the best friend, loss, war,
etcetera. Until the ending where time
stops circling for at least our protagonist.
—Carol Dorf