I watched time closely that summer.
I sat next to it for hours
cramped between bodies and luggage
in our beat up jeep.
Time steamed on the grill
along with corn on the cob
and plump steaks.
My nana knit it into a sweater
the one I was destined to wear next winter
and my papa spread it onto his burger
at the baseball game each week.
Time lounged a while on the sand
next to my towel and sunblock
before paddling out to sea
on the boogie board I dragged behind me.
It lay on the plate
beside the tomato and mozzarella
and drifted a top the glass of lemonade-
a meal for flies.
Time ran swiftly
through the graveyard down the street
as my cousins and I played manhunt
until midnight. When summer ended,
I tried to hide it
underneath piles of clothes
not in my suitcase. I squeezed it
into fists on my hips
as I told my mother I wasn’t leaving yet
and by yet I meant ever
because that summer I watched time closely.
I liked the way it meandered along
strolling at its own pace.
They say you can’t control time
but I swear I did.
And when summer ended
I had to hand it back
to the ticking clock’s greedy hands.
