“Metanoia”

If I could wrench the clock hands backwards,
I’d have them grab the shoulders of my past
and shake some sense
into its young bones.

Staring at a memory long passed,
I would ask

What is it that you love the most?

She would say
Mom.
Dad.
Oh, and foxes.

Shaking my head, pursing my lips
I would ask her
What is it that you love the most?

She would say
Well… happiness.
Humor.
Honesty.

One year, then two, then ten:
The numbers slowly would fall
from the clock,
its face wrinkling with impatience,
until I was staring at my present.

I would shake my head a final time and ask
What is it that you love most?

I’d pray her first word finally be what
I had been searching for.

She would say
Myself.

(photo source)

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