Alexandria Snyders Dykeman // TIME THAT SUMMER

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.

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