When You Were Under Poem by Cailey Martin

I tried not to wake you up
but hoped the entire time
that you would. Before you
went under, laughing,
you offered up promises
of what was done, searched
for debt to repay debt. You
insisted that truths were
patient; all they needed was
Time to come into existence.
What I should have said
was that Time is his own
master and will not be bent.
Time is impatient. He fidgets.
Even you couldn’t make him
stand still. I asked you to
pull yourself out of Time’s
unrelenting grip but you
responded casually that you
are friends now and would
rather not lose what you
have gained. Then I asked
again, louder this time,
because it was getting
blurry and just slightly
out of focus. You replied
that the gardeners already
watered the grounds and
didn’t need my help. When
I was over grass (browning
and passive because already
it was headed your way) ,
I walked to your left but
ended on your right instead,
shifting perceptions of changing
directions and no more
questions left to ask. Over us
was sky, but under us was
flame and sorrow and hurt.
I ran away, I circled back.
Dizzy with the height of opera,
I found you conversing
with the worms, paying little
heed to the bites they took
out of you, drop by drop. If
I were under, I would eat
the worms before they
reached you. You never did
notice cruelty when its object
was you. You wouldn’t need
to worry about remembering,
or how the soil massaged you
away like so many plastic
bubbles when all that time
clean air was right above you.
I would wipe it all away until
all that was left was the sound of
flies. Then I would wipe the
flies away until all that was
left was you. I would punch
Time in the face until his eyes
were black like earth but even
then he would not give in. I’ve
known Time a long time. He
wouldn’t dare to hit back. He
would just ask us if we were
ready to come home.