Time is ticking
but we just don’t feel it.
Locked in a bubble
of the day
the moment
not knowing when
a job might rob us from it.
Their little faces
smiling
sparkling
like a million stars
still and preserved
imprinted in my mind’s eye
spread out on a canvas of memories.
Images, sounds, feelings, all there to savour – and to be haunted by.
And then I feel myself flying
while my body remains
rooted
to the playground soil
becoming ever distant, rocketing up, like a camera on a dolly.
In a time bubble.
I see myself
from the place beyond
where I’m no longer locked
into this moment
this bubble
but another…
… where my kids are watched
by another
caregiver
and I’m in the office
the cold, grey, emotionless office.
And I feel like crying in the now
for the loss
that will come
must come.
And my stomach feels heavy.
a ball
stuck in my throat
as one soars by my head
here in the playground
of time.
Dazed and suddenly so melancholy.
This is the life of a parent
in a world of two working parents
where the break
between
cold, grey, emotionless offices
is never long enough.
PoemsofaDad 