Time is a Cubist Painter
After we met, I saw time’s mark everywhere — like in the powder rubbed beneath a gymnast’s hands, patterning the sprung floor with the flame of his triple twists. His body a pendulum sweating seconds, reminding me that time is not just kept by skies or mapped in brass, sand, and digital displays.
We decide that on holidays we will stop checking the clock’s flinching beat and go by appetite – by the flip of light.
bright moments
flare sweltering storms —
summersault
Forecasts are for the careful. The rain is always warmer than you think. We run into its friction, hear it slamming into the bridge’s cedar slats, smoothing them with blues and clouds. Our feet fall where they have before. We are part of a story’s loop.
a guitar
strums squandering nights’
abstraction
Memory slices my thoughts like a pear —showing me the shadows, and the seeds we’ve formed and lived. You were tired when you returned from the hotel in Edgware, your suitcase bulging with the haste of its packing. We know love now for what it is in flowers and in aging trees
ripening
and rushing pink-cheeked—
autumn breathes
Jenny Middleton is a working mum and writes whenever she can amid the fun and chaos of family life. She lives in London with her husband, two children and two very lovely, crazy cats.
Edward Michael Supranowicz is the grandson of Irish and Russian/Ukrainian immigrants. He grew up on a small farm in Appalachia. He has a grad background in painting and printmaking. Some of his artwork has recently or will soon appear in Fish Food, Streetlight, Another Chicago Magazine, The Door Is A Jar, The Phoenix, and The Harvard Advocate. Edward is also a published poet who has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize multiple times.
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