Instructions for Building Your First Time Machine
By T.S. Leonard
Don’t. The past is overcrowded with the future
closer than you think. You blink, that’s one
eon; a yawn, two. Take a few photographs—
one of your mother, some of your childhood,
one of the most embarrassing fashion mistakes
you made in your twenties—stack them up,
shuffle, deal. Fixate on some thoughtless crack
you made at that party, years ago. You will live
to make another. You will live again. Try reflecting
a mirror to another mirror—watch yourself
replicate endlessly. Try breaking. Paste those
shards onto a globe; now you’ve made a disco
ball—change! Step one: forget everything;
step two: forget step one. Step one-two-three:
if you’re just dancing here that’s good enough;
when the music stops, stay where you are—
you’re older now than you ever imagined;
you remember wanting to forget. You didn’t.
Keep walking away from the wreckage.
Source: Poetry (January/February 2025)