Daylight Savings Won’t Save Us
by Alexis Rhone Fancher
If I pull the drapes it is always night.
I cannot see the seasons,
or you, sneaking off in the half-light
like there’s someplace you’d rather be.
Come Monday, it will grow cold and dark
before people leave work.
Maybe you should go with them?
When I photograph you,
I stash my feelings in my pocket
where you won’t find them,
where the fabric sticks to my
thighs.
Go downtown, you’d whisper, back
when it mattered, push my face
into your sunlit forever.
Can I help it if we are now on different clocks?
A hot pink August has stumbled
into our November like a second chance.
Why can’t you see it?
Come Sunday, the saving of daylight
will no longer matter.
If I photograph the light, maybe you
will no longer matter.
I grab my camera and shoot the dawn
from the roof of our building.
Catch you slipping out the lobby.
My world goes dark without you.
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