Strange and Twisted Times.

Time, you are a strange thing,
Twisting the mind
Into shapes that contradict—
January feels like a year,
But the pandemic?
Only two years ago,
Though I know it’s been five.

Everything feels two years ago—
Even my mother's death—
She’s been gone eight years.
Last night, a friend sent me a screenshot
Of a Facebook post from sixteen years back,
And I still feel the splint in my rib
From laughing that night,
Taste the tequila puke I left
    In a Walmart parking lot.

        Back then, the world was both big and small— 
        Full of infinite possibilities, yet 
        I felt fine walking home— 
        Drunk and alone, in the dark night. 
        My trivial childlike faith,
        Thinking I’d become great someday 
        While already feeling untouchable— 
        Not a danger in sight. Time is a twisted thing.  

Now, I’ve been sober thirteen years,
This memory old enough to drive—
Drive all day, all night,
To the other side of the country,
Where this friend and her screenshot now live.

Time moves so fast, and so slow,
Once living truly begins. Time, 
both a thief and a healer,
you are a strange and twisted thing.