He left her
standing there
on a cold street
corner
and all she could really
do was stare and
pray that she could
reverse the clock and
retrace his steps.
But the clock was
set and any
minute now,
she was set to
explode.

If I could pen a poem from
all my regrets, I would fill up
ten dozen notebooks.
And

if I could take back all the
things I wished I hadn’t said,
I could start my own
branch of the U.S. public
library.

And if I could wrap it all
up with one big gift-bow
and present it to you,
I would speak of the fragmented
memories of all the times I
spent with
you.

Because…

Five years ago, in January,
Hours turned into
Minutes and
Minutes slowed into
Seconds. And then suddenly,
all the time elapsed between us without
warning. And your ticking
time-piece turned out to be
a homemade explosive you
marked as ‘flammable’.

And if I could have just one
more minute to
tell you that I love you,
Just one more moment,
to say that I’m sorry.
Just…just one last second
to say goodbye
and to make sure you knew for
sure what I always knew that you knew;
Before the hours turn into minutes
and trickle down into seconds
Before all the time elapses in-
between us…

I would use those moments to tell
you that I love you more than Mercury
loves the sun, and that I long to see you
once again just as Pluto longs to
make one full rotation.
And I would tell you I will always
“see you later, alligator” and that in my
dreams, you will always be my
"crocodile-lover."

And how I’ll always go back to Summers of
how your fuzzy mustache tickled my
innocence during our special eskimo
kisses.

And that I’ll forever remember how you
pushed me on the swings singing
‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame,"

And how you whispered to me sweet nothings
of how I always was your favorite.

And I’ll always remember that you loved
candied orange slices, gummy bears, sugar smacks
and your “top secret” chocolate stash
almost as much as you loved
your precious cigarettes,
almost as much as you
loved me.

And I’d tell you that I’m still
scared of lawnmowers,
Grandpa,
And that I’m scared that there’s
no man who will
love me like you did,
And that I’m scared that growing
up will make me forget.

Because it’s six years
and six million
tears later.
And I wish I could tell you
how many things have changed.
But the most important things
will always remain the same.
Because,
Everyday the hours turn into
Sixty Minutes and the
Sixty Minutes turn into
Sixty Seconds
and the time still
elapses between all of us as you
sing me softly to sleep
Even from below
Six feet.

His Down's Syndrome makes
His age a tough guess, I'll
Say eight to ten.

Wide eyes on machines,
Ice cream dripping on the
Pavement outside the

Construction site.
I wanna work like this when
I grow up, he says in

Young enthusiasm to a mother
Whose eyes well up with
Gratitude when I approach

And kneel down in front of
Him. So you want a job,
Buddy? I ask him with a

Wink. He suddenly remembers
His ice cream and bites into
It shyly. Nods, glancing at the

Tools in my belt, the scratches
On my arms, the brick wall
I've been attacking with a

Wacker jackhammer. Nods
Again. Well, I'll see you in a
Few years, I say with another

Wink, this time to his mother,
Who'd look her young age if
Her eyes weren't as tired,

But you can start with this
And get some practice. I hand
Him my Stanley Fat Max

Hammer. His ice cream
Hits the ground as he
Recieves it with both hands,

Looking to his mother for
Confirmation that it's ok.
Oh, it is. She mouths a

Thank you SO much...
They walk away, his chatter
High pitched and fading

Around the corner. And I
Head over to the foreman to
Report that I lost my hammer.

Don't ever employ me.
I can work a good game, but
I'm too soft around little heroes.

Old Dan Tucker and endless
hours of hanging out at that little
coffee-shop-convenience-store you liked
turned into hours of writing about the
fragmented memories I have of the
time I spent with
you.

Five years ago, in January,
Hours turned into
Minutes and
Minutes slowed into
Seconds. And then suddenly,
all the time elapsed between us
And your ticking clock turned out to be
a homemade explosive you
marked as ‘flammable’.

But my clock still ticks on,
and deep inside of me, it’s
forever set to summer.
Summers I spent hours with
you; playing Old Dan tucker
on the piano, and singing while you
pushed me on the swings and I
screamed with utmost delight
and glee. I begged you to let me
soar higher and higher, still,
far away to heights unknown and
forever un-dreamt about.

Even back then, I thought I
was an angel.

But then
Hours slowed to
minutes, and while your
explosive clock broke down,
and minutes trickled down to
seconds and your beautiful lungs
that sang me pretty songs and
whispered to me how I was
your “favorite grandchild, “

Your once beautiful lungs were
as black and as dark as
charcoal is before
it burns up.

Though your lungs went black,
and the strings that held you
together were wearing thin,
your heart never did.

And even almost six years and
six million tears later,
you still hold our family together with a
glue as strong as the heart that
never stopped beating,
and as beautiful as the
lungs that sang me
softly to sleep,
even from six-feet deep.