It’s Time
It’s Time
I’ve been making progress.
Been driving through the city lights.
Burning up so many goddamn tires
Leaving them at the dead-end streets
On fire.
But I keep on trucking.
Until tonight.
Feeling, just feeling
Hormonal, not sentimental.
Pregnant (yea) with emotion.
Godammnit, I was looking for your rage
Feeling in a blue lake
The thickness of your fight
Wanting to take your kind of bite out of this life.
Like when I slapped you on the arm,
Said: “Holy shit, look at you!”
And you hit me back not holding back,
Almost fell into the blooms.
on Bloomsbury.
You don’t know this, but
Your Twitter is sending me notes
To join your account
Follow you there
Stupid Twitter doesn’t have a clue
What it’s dealing with here.
It’s time.
Then tonight on the feed
Up pops up your name and a vid
Of my San Francisco memory band
And a song with lyrics
About “how people change.”
In moments like this,
I punch the fucking walls,
Spit, fierce, shouting: “See that! Jesus Christ!
I don’t make this shit up at all!”
Tonight I was brewing up a poem
Didn’t know what it’d be
But my last thought a week ago
Was to write about what the song did:
The time we walked toward Covent Garden
On some bridge from the South Bank of London
You said: “you shouldn’t write people off, they change
A person can change in 10 years,” you said.
I carried that with me, thinking that you
talked more than you did 13 years before
And 13 years later, you scare the shit out of me
Will things be better when I’m 53?
It’s time.
It’s time to not listen to the music, and I haven’t
To remember the arrangements that maybe I helped in.
(The records spins
and the wheels in the mind keep turning)
It’s time to not think anymore of this
To not get too excited you answered another “Code Red”
Request for a fighting.
I’ve been making progress.
Been driving through the city lights.
Burning up so many goddamn tires
Leaving them at the dead-end streets
On fire.
But I keep on trucking.
Until tonight.
It’s time.
It’s time for nothing to change
Except for my direction.
I keep spinning my goddamn wheels
Chasing something.
But I smile, breathing deep
That our journey has ended.
It’s something I’ve fully accepted.
And the place it took me
Was exquisite.
So when I’ve feared you could be replaced
Just like you did that morning —
Tonight — you asserted your place
Secretly, unintentionally – maybe you knew what you were doing
Regardless of whether I know where you’re going
Do you know you take me to exactly
Where I need to be?
It’s time.
I’ve got going.
© Sylvie Hill 2014
Art: dixon (Juan Carlos Noria) / “It’s Time” / spray paint and enamel on record / 2008