She said, “two years is enough.
Enough of who’s pain?
Hers or mine,
or hers, because my pain is hers?
And the pain of a child is felt deeper
in a mother’s heart.
She said she had had enough,
at her age she should be laughing,
not watching her daughter crying
because of a man.
She said, “you were all right before him,
you can be all right again.
How long is this going to go on?”
I said, “when he comes back,
that’s when I’ll be fine,
when he comes back.”
So I went away to wait for him
to come back,
and said some prayers
for myself and my mother.
Where Is The Clock?
If I could I would speed up
the motion of the earth to
the time we would be together.
I’m looking at the space left
by the clock that was once there.
That held the time that I once told.
There’s just a shadow that remains.
Even before the batteries stopped,
the minute hand,
it did not tick; nor did it tock.
Now there is no day or night,
no afternoon or morning.
And I don’t know
when the day is dawning.
Just like my life, just like my life.
There is no way of knowing the time;
when I’ll be yours and you’ll be mine.
If I will be having a child,
or when you will be coming back.
If it is in seconds, minutes or hours.
I just forget, I always look,
I always check to see;
though there is no clock
to tell the time.
Angela Hammond is a freelance writer from London. She loves writing every day and specializes in poetry. She has had several individual poems published by United Press and two collections published by them. In March this year, her poem “Watermark” was published by FIVE Poetry magazine. Find more of her work On the Verge here and here.
Image credit: “il tempo si è fermato…” captured by Alessandro Prada