Mothers know the mercurial properties of time
Frail baby bird in your incubator,
arms bent like wings, unfledged and translucent,
your face foreshadows old age,
as if time must run backwards
for you to catch up.
Suspended, we hold our breath,
look only seconds ahead.
“Give her time”, they say,
so we place a scintilla in glass
and hang it from a thread.
With years shimmering behind us
I glimpse you at the window of your room.
Raven black, you stretch buy xanax no prescription into the night,
the arc of your back a yearning,
something feral in your eye.
An echo of your birth takes flight.
“It’s too soon,” I tell the quicksilver mirror
before my reflection ghosts away.
Jan Harris lives in Nottinghamshire and writes poetry, flash fiction and short stories. Her work has appeared in 14 Magazine, nth Position, Popshot and Mslexia. Her poem ‘Poppies’ was commended in the Poetry Kit Competition 2011.