It’s Not Time

These cumulus clouds look like rungs on a ladder I wish I could climb

effortlessly, higher and higher until  my shadow is only

an echo of a whisper on the ground. If I close my eyes I can pretend they will take me

directly to each of you- mama with her honey heart, Pitzy and his whistling S’s,

Bobby with his brazen guffaw, dad with his thin lips, and Annie

running but still laughing at the night.

Up there Winter is a crystalline ocean of light, frozen perfectly

for the eyes of the poet the barker the jester the fool. Up there Summer is

a drop of dew at the corner of an angel’s mouth. She says hello to you

and waves goodbye to me. It’s not time. There are no clouds

solid enough or close enough to hold me. I blink

ignoring the sour notes of the trumpets, and agree to wait.

© Tina Zabielski 2011-2019


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In search of courageous souls who aren't afraid to dig a little deeper and have a conversation about all manner of things. Rant, rave, debate, discuss... let's do it!
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