Poem: Tenses

I flip through time to

Now and then

My inner editor

Throwing my words to the slush pile

Booming across muddy literary fields.

One cannot mix ones tenses

This is not an exotic cocktail, dear.

Words have a time and place

The same bud does not bloom after wilting

The voice goes on.

Yet I am confused.

It doesn't feel like she has gone yet.

I say she is, not she was. 

I say she likes, not she liked.

I say, my mum has, not my mum had.

My inner editor

Hush for now.

Hush.

Time has flipped out on me.

Now and then.

It was only a drink and a fall away.

A jug of red roses, bloomed

Never seen and now wilted.