Tonight's Poet Corner: More Time
More Time by Belinda Roddie I could have easily used another week or two to stretch my legs and go stargazing, or drive to the coast and forget that I actually don't like the beach for a day. Or perhaps a month to try new recipes for chocolate pie, or dishes with zucchini and cheese, or mocktails with a curled lemon twist like a chewed off fingernail. Or s'mores heated over the stove because it's too fucking dry in the state to start a fire outside. And then I could go to the piano bar in the city every Sunday without worrying about the banshee screech of my alarm, my lips so close to kissing the microphone rather than wrapped up in gauze in too crowded of a classroom. Or would I really have done any of that, in the end, or would I have just dreamt it?