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...