“15 Minutes”
The clock hands quicken their pace I think.
As if they could escape the heat if they move even a little faster
The scorching sun cause its heavy hands to droop.
I wish I could go and pry those hands back, lean on them with all of my body weight, and use my shovel to hit it further back.
Just to get a little more…
A little more time
Every memory in this
seemingly empty field
From those who used
to live there
And us who search for evidence of their existence
It’s all so intricate and alluring
The first time I held
a piece of pottery,
One that was made
800 years ago,
My whole world melted like
a bunch of metals
To form a perfectly
sharpened sword,
Like what the lithics
I found used to be.
It was a high that I don’t believe can ever be topped
Not by a glass of a sickeningly sweet cocktail
Not by any drug
Not even the rush of a thrilling roller coaster
I decided in that moment that
I’d never need them
I’ve found my own
dopamine source
Before this all started,
I wished that the tires of our car would roll backwards
Away from such a foreign place
That loomed over me like a tall mountain that I was
destined to climb
But now I wish that those tires moved a little faster,
So that I would get an extra
15 minutes here
And be back in that plain field
— Charlotte Goggins