{"id":726,"date":"2010-06-29T08:51:14","date_gmt":"2010-06-29T08:51:14","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ink.verticalplus.co.uk\/archive\/?p=726"},"modified":"2010-06-29T08:51:14","modified_gmt":"2010-06-29T08:51:14","slug":"abigail-zammits-time-machine","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/abigail-zammits-time-machine\/","title":{"rendered":"Abigail Zammit's Time Machine"},"content":{"rendered":"

Time Machine<\/span><\/p>\n

I know \/ sometimes, that space is touching me<\/span>
because I have seen the crack in the universe<\/span>
through which the galaxies stream. <\/span>
(Jo Shapcott – \u2018I\u2019m contemplated by a portrait of the Divine\u2019)
<\/font>
The rain came pattering in tiny clusters.
No one called the night \u2018black\u2019. You thought
there were voices leaking through the ceiling.<\/p>\n

But all you knew was the bicycle-man flying
on silver spokes. They\u2019d named every constellation,
so you marked the fading nebulae, called Earth<\/p>\n

a cigarette butt thrown into space. They fed you
seven words for sadness. In the end, you traced them
to the night-sky: cavernous mouth, star-ripped scars. <\/p>\n

The mirror looked at you. Light came from behind you.
The moon died for the billionth night. All you know
is the bicycle-man flying on silver spokes.<\/p>\n

*Abigail Zammit<\/span> was born in Malta in 1976 and currently teaches English literature and creative writing at the Junior College and the University of Malta respectively. She followed a Masters in Creative Writing at Lancaster University after which she published her first book of poetry – Voices from the Land of Trees<\/span>, Smokestack 2007. She is currently reading for a PhD in creative writing and working on a new collection of poetry.<\/font><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Time Machine I know \/ sometimes, that space is touching mebecause I have seen the crack in the universethrough which the galaxies stream. (Jo Shapcott – \u2018I\u2019m contemplated by a portrait of the Divine\u2019)The rain came pattering in tiny clusters.No one called the night \u2018black\u2019. You thought there were voices leaking through the ceiling. But […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-726","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/726","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=726"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/726\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=726"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=726"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=726"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}