Just for a moment,

let’s pretend that

we are clocks on the wall

of our own house.


feel the wood exhale.

hear the carcasses of leaves trickling.

count footprints collecting on the front porch.

watch the animals in their lonely daze.

see if you can make out

those little heartbeats

I thought had long since stilled.

the ones that helped me sleep

when I was young.

stare with me at pictures

we pretend don’t exist.

I’ve gotten a little too good

at questioning


and I’m happy to hang here,



and we are separate

and our hands are not for holding

and we have no choice but to let go of

every single thing that happens.


but I am not a clock

and yet I still can’t seem

to hold on to

any of you.


Charlie Mischer, USA

One thought on “Hold”

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