I am a time traveler.

I awake and my hands have become the arthritic clawed appendages of an ancient crone. They curl and ache with the stabs and throbs of a million years of living. I have left my youthful body in the past and become the liver spotted grandmother I someday hope to be.

I am a time traveler.

As my mornings turn to evenings and my evenings become night my steps shift from an easy and purposeful stride into the slow and painful shuffling of legs whose feet have left too many footprints on this earth.

I am a time traveler.

Each day I age one hundred years in twelve short hours. I awake entombed in the decrepit body of the night before. I rise to shed the wrinkled skin of my aged self like so much crinkled crepe only to feel it fall back across my body as the sun traverses the sky.

I am a time traveler.

My time machine was born within me, a broken set of instructions written into my genetic code. Like Prometheus I am bound to spend my days in increasing agony only to be healed by the velvet darkness of the night.

I am a time traveler.

---

By Misty Morehead 8/1/16

Summer sun beats down

as we go walking around

hiding under hats.

 

Sleeves of cotton scarves

colorful protective capes

cover fragile skin.

 

Yet the skin burns hot

and the burning doesn’t end

for hours the fires rage.

 

Still I deign to walk

risking hotly burning flesh

embracing summer.

 

Sleeplessness takes hold

My mind becomes my torment

thoughts spin endlessly