Surrendering Time
written by: Robin McNamara
No one will wake us
from this stretch of black.
An iconography of a face,
gracefully aged
brings a memory I can’t forget.
I read Wong May’s poem
‘The Chair’
about how poetry ruins lives.
Mother said there will always be a
devil whispering sweet manifestations.
His mouth sweet with words.
Father. We undermined, how many grains
were placed in the palm of our hands.
Time is not our friend anymore.
It’s the first of May and the birdsong
is mellow and sweet,
crying for the time lost.
In the heartlands we’re
praying for water in the drought
of our lives. On a dry riverbed
in the wastelands birds are calling,
from a cage of memories, fading to twilight.
Mother promised to keep love
for a rainy day, so on the longest days,
we’d have no need for prayer,
to save us from the running
sands of time.
We wonder, was it worth the worship
of ghost hearts on social media.
A metaphor for lust.
Even after everything has gone,
we wave our flags of surrender.
May the winds take you to where
you need to go.
- Surrendering Time - September 28, 2026
- Apperception - July 25, 2026
- Native America - April 23, 2026
