When I was little,
Like, between 8 or 11-
I used to wonder,
Standing with the fiery Iowa
Sun slowly blistering my shoulders;
Where does the time go
When it flies away?
And if time sometimed
Slowed, stopped, stood stock-
Still, why could I not
See its feet?

If...
(When)
I was 8, 8 years from Mom's
Belly, where was 9 for me?
Born: Thursday, May 9, 1963.
So, I can do the rudimentary
Addition: 5/9/71, I'm exactly...

8. 2 weeks from 3rd grade being
Over. Happy. Birthday. Presents.
Cake, ice cream, a baseball game

To hurry to, Teddy, we'll open
Your presents and have cake when
We get home from the ballgame.
Ugh. Baseball. All I'm going to be
Thinking obsessing about is what
Lies beneath colorful wrapping.
Time has a special
Bitter flavor when you hope and pray
The ball won't be hit to you, ever.
Baseball is full of confused time-
Time scurrying and rolling away from you
In the form of a stupid large white stitched
Ball that delightfully challenges you to be
Quicker than it - Time then languishing,
Elongating, becoming the torture of impatience
Trying to stand in line and wait with that
Virtuous virtue that time ever mocks.

So it's the next day, and I'm 1
Day past 8. I'm a clock, then?
I stored memories of 2, 3? Years
Ago? And I stored scars, dumb
Ideas materializing as real
Blood, pain, stitches, howling...
Did I store time inside my
Mind, heart, left knee, right
I didn't know. Life is often
Too big a concept to really
Grasp when you're eaten
By 8 mosquitoes.

And time slows down to
A scaly crawdad claw
That won't let go of your
Left pinky finger.

I thought, as I rode my bike
Down the middle of the street,
What about next year? 5/9/72?
Ninth birthday? Where did that
Day live? Was it millions and millions
Of miles Earth had to travel to line
Itself up clockwork-universe style
With the time that spun, tilted, and
Pushed the earth through space?

What if I died? Did the time
God gave me go back to Him?
Like I was a human library of congress
Book to spend a short amount of
()
And then be returned to my
Original Owner?