–at a quarter past the end; reboot.
I tell everyone time isn’t real
but I disagree; that semi-truck moved
too fast and avoided this crash,
for a reason.
A nesting Chaffinch gathers
twigs, dirt, and minutes,
but without the silk
extruded from an orb-weaver
its patience is wasted;
there’s no rush is a lie
that I needed–
it wasn’t my fault,
was it?
I still take time from
the palm of your hand
and smile when I swallow it.
Maggie Fulmer is an emerging writer from Kentucky with a passion for creative nonfiction and poetry. Her work has been featured in Atlas+Alice, Dime Show Review, The Coil and Ice Lolly Review. She can be found on most corners of the internet (@mfulms21) talking about boybands, books, and reality television.