Poetry by Laura Grace Weldon

No Such Thing As Time   

Isaac imagined time as a river flowing. 

Albert, as a single four-dimensional entity. 

I lie awake in a 56-year-old insomniac body

under a thick quilt

still in my 13-year-old body 

spine against shingles of my childhood home

facing the stars. 

Somewhere inside, parent’s voices murmur

indistinct but comforting

as they may have sounded

from the womb. 

Till my sister returns

eyes red, pup...