Timing by Carna Engstrom Sentenced to live a year in two or three months. No last trips to wear me out. Time moving fast, I am not. I wrestle to live a month in a week.
People appear for their vigil visits.
Where was everyone when I could enjoy. Dear granddaughter brings open talk. The rest circle around the weather with mock normalcy. too serious for everyday tones. Unable to speak, the unspoken, not to be spoken. My thoughts drift towards the impending chasm.