‘Hourglass’ by Vincent J. Fitzgerald


In the second before my last grain falls, through neck, from bulb to bulb,
my life will project on the lids of my eyes, and I’ll live our days again.

I’ll savor your glance as we meet in a hall; and inhale your vanilla hair.
Aware we’d yet to share a day, yet sensing you always there.

I’ll relish our coffees and late-night calls for the bedrock formed under our feet,
And how a crack I feared might shatter the stone, instead gave birth to a tree.

I’ll thank your eyes for lighting my way; your words that served to mold,
and how you breathed in me a confidence and dared me to be bold.

I’ll seize the day I cut your chains; freed you from torments past;
And how you taught me tears were born of strength when I fought mine back steadfast.

I’ll feel your breast heave against mine as you laugh at my eccentric ways;
Those parts entrusted only to you who secured them deep in your heart.

Then, while at my most rapt, a memory will storm of a day demanding its due;
One pissed away through foolhardy rants, and lapses of reason and mind

A day we deemed superfluous, as if a day could ever be;
Kicked to the curb, expelled with our trash, sentenced to vagrancy.

We had endless chances to alter its course, if not for mulish pride,
But instead we banished it to the chill where it succumbed to cold and died.

I’ll spurn the shields we yielded and swung, as we each deflected blame;
Detest my crippling, toxic tongue once curative, and loathe to maim.

Though we mended our rift at the next day’s dawn, and vowed to stay our road,
I took brief pause to mourn the day we cast out from our abode.

Now as the grain kisses the glass and offers eternal reward,
I’m fated to stir, and toss, and turn, and grasp for the gift I ignored.

While I wander in limbo, and curse my regret, desperate to feel consoled
Will I find you there, also bereft of the day that died in the cold?