The Department of Lost Hours
Where do they put them, the lost hours
of saved daylight?
Are they stored in a dusty
government office,
an accidentally-funded
pocket of the federal budget?
Stashed away by clever clock drones
who save enough to craft
an alternate century.
As autumn hones our edges,
brightens the leaves, and billows gray above,
the hours dim, shrink, and turn in
on themselves. All I want to do is turn
and go inside, switch on the lamps
and read someone’s hard-won words,
read their lavender memories,
sit inside their teal shadows,
and grow wiser than myself
minute by each minute.
Rachel Dacus, 2022
HAPPY CLOCKS BACKWARD SEASON!
More of my poems here and here.
#magicalrealism #magicalrealismpoetry
1 thought on “The Department of Lost Hours: a magical realism poem”