Time's Mark
There are women rooted inside themselves
working in the night, covertly
writing notes to their 20 year old selves.
Mice shuffle under their skin.
They lie awake staring at unfinished
dreams hanging like skeins from the ceiling.
Their hands like moles splayed against the dark
brush over the puncture wounds
where the pictures hung.
Gypsum dust bleeds into their finger whorls
under carpets, in the back of cupboards,
behind the cans of soup, tomatoes
and settles as they sit peeling away at the hours
those layers of veils from their necks,
wrists, binding.
See how pretty they are, grinding time
the churning clock etched into their faces
hands whirring around in disbelief.
working in the night, covertly
writing notes to their 20 year old selves.
Mice shuffle under their skin.
They lie awake staring at unfinished
dreams hanging like skeins from the ceiling.
Their hands like moles splayed against the dark
brush over the puncture wounds
where the pictures hung.
Gypsum dust bleeds into their finger whorls
under carpets, in the back of cupboards,
behind the cans of soup, tomatoes
and settles as they sit peeling away at the hours
those layers of veils from their necks,
wrists, binding.
See how pretty they are, grinding time
the churning clock etched into their faces
hands whirring around in disbelief.
September 2025
Mary Anne Griffiths is a poet and fiction writer from Ingersoll, Ontario, Canada. Her work can be found in Slipstream Magazine, Anti-Heroin Chic, Panoply Magazine and in other anthologies and publications. She is working towards her first poetry collection.
Art: Ellen June Wright, Diptych #1306, #1509, watercolor on paper