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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.
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