Up against time

Cemetery

Office girls from St. Clair towers

wince from paper cuts and nylon tears

hasten to unwrap sandwiches

to dim the ticking bomb

they spot her here

she stands with the buckle tight

awash at the tippy edge, unanchored

hoary leave-taking slips beneath

sound bruises backward into time

and then there was—and then there was—

bits of old bones muddied in dirt

your hand returned to you

she gulps air, flattens grey against granite

still life leans into someone’s long forgotten sorrow.

That night, she tucks her child into dreams.

I don’t want you to die, he says

but if you do whatever you do

don’t come back and haunt me.

Up against time.

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About Nor

I'm a creative non-fiction writer, with a special interest in memoirs and obituaries--life stories, local histories with flesh & blood anecdotal details. I'm also beginning to create podcasts of people's stories and expanding their audiences. I'm a diarist, an editor, and a political activist. I live in Toronto, Ontario, Canada and spend days tapping keys or staining my fingers in ink.
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