When I was eight or nine
Mum and Dad gave me a watch.
It was small, with a black strap
and real numbers.
Time was made tangible by its touch.
Since I was eight or nine
I have been fascinated and repelled
by all notion of time, fixed and passing.
I will not be defined by mealtimes, deadlines or clock chimes: will not swing on the heavy pendulum
that marks each moment of a dying day.
My precious watch is tucked away, unwound.
And I dance between beats,
acknowledging respectfully
but untethered by Time.
