A elegy for all that didn’t fit in today

I’m shucking pocket watches like oysters.

Stuff  their shells like pencil cases.

Each cog has to be engraved my number of sneezes.

I have never met a day that I felt was truly over.

It’s like the last line of novel

punctuated with the close of my eyelids

but there were still boxes of double decadence

brownies we were going to bake

and eat with the chocolate finger of

our fourth grade selves reincarnated.

Always orphaned socks left knotted

to a widowed partner– mismatched at

the front of the drawer.

Always paths that needed to be walked

in bare feet– gravel meant to be brushed

from toes. Stories I was meant

to tell about why I like hard boiled eggs

even though they;re kind of gross.

Stories about the bottoms of cereal

bowls lined with banana slices.

Stories of bed sheet canopies and

bowler had salesmen.

This is an elegy of everything

that I will forget to tell you because the day is

a blink of light with night crust on

the eye lashes.

An elegy for everything you will forget to say

because there wasn’t enough minutes

left to say it how you wanted to.

I’m shucking pocket watches like oysters

and tossing the shells back into the canal

between the two islands

with crustacean cheek bones

and prawned lips.