Poem by Annie Hartley
I want to grab a freeze ray from my jacket pocket
And fire it at the clock on the wall.
The hands would freeze,
Cuffed by delicate, frosty chains.
Out from the clock’s nucleus, the ice would spread
Across time and space,
Draped over every timeline
Until the entire Universe looked like a tall oak
In the dead of winter,
Its branches encased in a sparkling prison.
And time would stop,
Resting peacefully for eternity
And allowing us mere mortals to take notice of it
And mark each moment as it passes.
But time is fire.
It dances and moves and blurs,
Refusing to be trapped or beaten.
It melts right through the ice,
Laughing as it does so.