Last updated on January 1st, 2025 at 07:20 pm
five years in one breath
time isn't what it used to be
remember when days walked
one after the other / like ducks in a row?
now they run & skip & jump
leaving us breathless
my kitchen wall clock tells stories
i cannot trust anymore / its hands point
to numbers that feel like wishes
while years slip through windows
the cat knows something is wrong
she watches me with sharp eyes
that hold four summers in their light
& all the springs we lost
i keep old masks in a drawer
next to birthday cards that say
twenty twenty / twenty one / twenty two / twenty three / twenty four /
paper promises of time behaving itself
morning comes too fast now
darkness goes too slow
& somewhere in between
i forget what day it is
remember when weeks were weeks?
when months kept their shapes?
now december feels like june
& tomorrow tastes like yesterday
my coffee cup counts moments
in rings of brown / marking time
like tree trunks do / but nothing
adds up the way it should
i put sticky notes everywhere:
today is monday
today is december
today is twenty twenty four
but paper cannot hold this truth
the world spins different now
& we spin with it / dizzy
with the speed of days
that blur like rain on windows
hold my hand / dear friend
as we walk through this strange time
where five years feel like one breath
& forever feels like morning
Mary Kaye Chambers (12/30/24)
Reflections
You know, when I sat down to write about how time feels now, my hands were actually shaking a bit. It’s one thing to think about how weird these past 5 years have been, but putting it into words made me confront just how much it has affected me personally.
That line about sticky notes everywhere? That’s because I actually started doing that during the pandemic. Monday. December. 2020. Like if I wrote it down enough times, maybe time would start making sense again. Sometimes I walk into my kitchen and stare at my wall clock, trying to remember if it’s morning or afternoon, spring or winter. The hands move, but the meaning feels different now.
The part about the cat wasn’t just poetic – it came from watching my own cat sleeping in patches of sunlight, completely unbothered by how time was warping around us. Sometimes I envy her certainty, how she lives purely in the present moment while I’m still trying to figure out how we jumped from lockdowns to the end of 2024 in what feels like a single breath.
Writing about the masks in the drawer was harder than I expected. I’ve since packed them away, but each time I opened that drawer and saw them there, it was like opening a time capsule. They were physical proof that yes, all of this really happened, we really lived through this, even though it sometimes feels like a dream.
The ending, where I wrote “hold my hand, dear friend” – that came from a place of real vulnerability. Because sometimes I feel lost in this new way time moves, and I know I’m not alone in that feeling. We’re all trying to navigate this strange new reality where years can collapse into moments and moments can stretch into years.
This poem isn’t just about time being weird – it’s about how I’m still trying to make peace with a world where the old rules don’t apply anymore. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe we’re all just learning how to dance with time in its new rhythm.
Journaling Prompts
Take a moment to sit quietly with these questions. There are no right or wrong answers – only your truth and experience of how time has shifted in your world.
Deep Reflection Prompts:
- Find an object in your home from 2020. Hold it in your hands. What memories does it carry? How does touching it make time feel?
- Think about how you measured days before 2020 versus now. What has changed in your daily rhythms? Which changes surprise you the most?
- If you could have a conversation with your 2020 self about time, what would you want them to know about how you experience moments now?
Memory Mapping:
- Choose one memory from each year since 2020. How do they feel in relation to each other? Are some closer or farther than they should be?
- Write about a day that felt endless and a year that went too fast. What made them different?
Sensory Time:
- Close your eyes. What does 2024 smell like? Taste like? Sound like? How is it different from your sensory memories of 2020?
- Describe the texture of time now. Is it smooth, rough, liquid, solid? Has its texture changed over these years?
Looking Forward:
- How has your relationship with planning for the future changed since 2020?
- What would you like to remember about how time feels right now, five years from now?
Personal Rhythms:
- What anchors you in time now? What moments or practices help you feel grounded in the present?
- How do you mark the passage of time differently now than you did before?
Take your time with these prompts. Let your answers meander and surprise you. Consider keeping these reflections to look back on later, as we continue to navigate this new relationship with time.
As you write, remember: your experience of time is uniquely yours, yet part of our collective story. Share what feels true for you in this moment, knowing that your perspective might shift again tomorrow – and that’s perfectly okay.
Final Thought to Ponder:
If time is indeed moving differently now, how might we learn to dance with its new rhythm instead of fighting to make it move like it used to?
YOUR TURN:
Create a poem about pandemic-era objects you still own that have become time capsules.