Thoughts on the Reorganization of Time

We, having reached the conclusion that we are still a we,
and not some other strange crowd of individuals,
can only say that we would have liked a heads up
before the tables started shifting in their grainy skin
and the rugs melted into the floor.

If only,
as if the reservoir had soured,
the cars with their megaphones had
shouted from the hazy street corners
then maybe we could have forgiven the dissolve,

maybe we could have agreed
to the changed face,
to the foreign child
looking up at us with fear.

We went to therapy before it was cool
before anything was cool.

We sit in her office and look out of the window
at Andromeda dancing with our milky way.

She asks us why we are crying

We say: we never thought
we never thought
we never thought

Nothing is holy anymore,
says our grandmother
over lunch

we have not seen her for a very long time
and we are very glad.

Norah Brady is an 18-year-old moon enthusiast writing about conspiracy, climate change anxiety, and mountains. She was a runner-up for Youth Poet Laureate of Boston and has received two Gold Keys and a Silver Key from the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards. Her poetry and short fiction works can be found in Rookie, The Ekphrastic Review, Blue Marble Review and the collection Writers on Earth: New Visions for Our Planet.

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