It’s three minutes past
The last time I checked
I’m so informed
As time is marked by thin gold hands.
Around me,
Life happens
In couples
In groups
Even
In the singular purpose
Of the man next to me
Glaring at his phone
Googling solutions
Have merit
The room is full
Of sound bites
Murmured conversation
Music of the earnest
Band of the evening
Debates and discussions on human connections
For me it’s just the
Languorous passing of minutes
Until
As if breathing my last
I get up
Later
With our exchange
Sealed in memory
I glance again
At thin gold hands
Whose movement
Slow and constant
Mark the time
Until.

Unstrung

Happily resigned
To being
Mostly unnoticed
You somehow find
A small patch of light
Deflected from the shadow
Standing center stage.

And there you stay
Sometimes still
Sometimes restless
Marking time while listening
To some interior music
Waiting for your cue

And when it arrives
You flourish
Without even stepping forward
And make your presence known
Before withdrawing.

---

Anne Mikusinski has always been in love with words, whether they have been read or spoken aloud. She has been writing poems and short stories since she was seven years old. Her influences range from Dylan Thomas and Sylvia Plath to David Byrne and Nick Cave.