These Days are Fleeting

by Nathaniel Krenkel

these days are fleeting
for now, yes, a marshmallow on a stick
by a fire,                      is enough
but tomorrow is closing in
the cocoon is torn and light leaks
your foot is already two sizes bigger than mine
and your little sister hums pop songs
that tease her with cave paintings and other truths
if a friend calls             if this pandemic lifts
if you look west
I won’t furiously sketch, insisting
just one more day, one more hour and I’ll have it
I’m not a net, not a maze, not a trophy
                                     up a ladder

I know we can’t keep you here with temptations like ice cream,
or the promise that you can watch one more Simpsons,
but oh, dread does loiter
around each moment,
because when you do go, and we’re left
with marshmallows      and magic cards
and a box of stuffies, these days will mock us
and they will say:
you see,                        we told you,
the roof and the no-screens policy are still here, but
sand painting child,     where have you gone
even now while you both sleep in your beds, I miss you with hurt
with my eyes flitting and panicked,
down the line, knowing that’s where you belong, knowing
I’m only here to get you part way,
knowing soon you’ll look back, and
                       the dust of my ashes will become a day
                       you mark on a calendar
that plugs into the wall.