Sunday Poem

On Being Time

A femtosecond? O, that’s very clever.
A galactic year? What dreamers you are.
My favorite is soon. What goddamn brilliance,
What staggering audacity. Even I cannot
measure the femtoseconds of soon,
It’s all just hope and promise,
The infinite never between will and is,
Hello! It’s me! Your friendly old Common
Arbitrator Time. Shakespeare! Now
There was a sentient sack of saltwater,
Completely mad for me, he was.
Onward! Forward! he would say,
Boldly go we into the future,
To-morrow and to-morrow and
He’s dead now. You!

I like you. You get the grammar of me.
You are here and alive, and that is
Rapturous and wondrous and come
Sit, sit, stay awhile, for whatever
bit of me you can spare, not that it’s much;
I’ve seen whole galaxies from birth to death.
That takes a while. You don’t. Have a seat,
We’ll blunt the lion’s paws together,
Watch it all crumble to dust, you and me.
Me? O, I’m just part of the furniture,
Part of the fabric of things,
Part of the fabric of the furniture,
You see this couch? Okay, well,

The Universe is a couch,
A big, rapidly expanding couch, and
I am the fabric of that couch, and
Probably the cushions and half a
Pillow. The point is that you get to
Sit on me for some of me.
Yes, I’m infinite. Well, nearly.
You’re shocked? That’s some comfort, I suppose.
Yes, there will be an end to me.
Not soon, but soon enough
The end will come.
It crowns all, you know, and
What I wanted to know is,
The thing I wanted to ask you is,

What’s that like?

by Ryan Kresse