Everything moves.
The ice in my glass,
the folds of my cheeks.
But especially the seconds—
watch them move
one
after
the
next.
I am older now
than I was four seconds ago.
Remember when
life wasn’t measured?
When we believed our golden tongues
would sit forever in our mouths?
We moved the world
with our manicured fingertips
and now it carries on
without us.
The glass has left
a ring on the vanity.
I fumble for a coaster
and slip it underneath.
How many seconds
did
that
take?
I close my eyes—
The focal point of her face,
wonderfully large and mysterious,
those eyes of Joan’s!
From Max Factor Beauty Tips (1934)
There is nothing more alluring! —
and do not move. I will sit silently.
I will pull the latch from the clock
to stop its ticking.
Hushed now are the seconds.
I have put them to sleep.
Even the phone is soundless in its cradle.
In truth, it has been
for years.
But wait—
Here is a soft and distant noise;
as soft as the skin beneath my chin,
as distant as my flapper gowns.
Perhaps it is the whispering past.
Perhaps it is a starring role.
Perhaps it is the whimpering of children
strapped to their beds.
