All my years are coming
and going. People work hard
to explain love and physics
when everything is just theory.
The best trains come
to save your life.
No matter if they’re late or early
they are always on time.
But time, like distance,
possesses direction
not precision. Words
like near and far exist
in a vague shelf of space
we will never find.
Every night I take a shower.
My fingers wrinkling
turning soft as cherries.
I stand there until I’m calm
almost dizzy. The farthest
from the child of my body
and I want to sleep or cry.
I love many people
who will never change.
GRACE Q. SONG is a writer residing in New York City. Her poetry and fiction have been published or are forthcoming in The Boiler, The Offing, The Cincinnati Review, The Minnesota Review, Memorious, The Journal, and elsewhere. Recent works were selected for Best Microfiction, Best Small Fictions, and Best of the Net. She is the winner of the 11th annual Gigantic Sequins Poetry Contest, selected by Vi Khi Nao, and she studies English at Columbia University.