Frozen

Sitting on the

front porch swing
between the men I loved
I'd hold their gnarled
workman’s hands and
listen to tales of

hardscrabble lives spent
laying railroad ties
logging on the River
interring last remains.



I’d hold their
watches to my ears
attuned to the passing of time
one tick followed another

hard upon
I held my breath
baited for synchronicity but
somehow Time never seemed to mesh
any tighter than the colors

of their

heterochromial eyes.