Annabel Kidd

Changing Words

“Time flies, you cannot. They pass at two irregular intervals.”

Remember the word games we played? A constant trick to get through

You’d know I learn to figure it out because you were taught them, too

And give me something special, something rich, a life fully renewed

We practiced them in the car together as the trees would fly by

You coaxed me from the misery of having to say goodbye

To the family I loved, even if it was just for a time

In time, the places felt familiar, like the trails I long walked

But I loved nothing more than each of those precious times we talked

And all the broken things I left behind would just as well be mocked

You taught me how words have meaning, try looking from a new angle

As we sat for dinner at the twenty-year-old coffee table

Letting the sharp wit of age pass onto me, knowledge untangled

“There’s always an answer. I doubt there’s anything you couldn’t crack.”

He’s right, I thought, why would he ask me for something I clearly lack

Any critique, any challenge, was to love me, not to attack

You always gave the best advice: “For every lock, there’s a key.”

And maybe this is why the pain chokes me so completely

There is no answer to the faded look in your eyes

No possible way to tell how it’ll realize

When will the time come? Why can’t it show up late?

Is this all a twist from the knife of fate?

The coffee table’s retiring soon

Your name carved into, like a rune

The answer’s always right here,

It’s too late, time is near.

“Time flies? You cannot. They pass at too irregular intervals.”

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