Time In A Bottle

She kept her time in a bottle;
a mason jar with a two-piece
lid to create a vacuum,
preventing botulism. Between uses
she kept the bottle in the back
corner of the tallest cabinet, hidden
from the light
to preserve it. Time is always
better when it’s fresh,
kept spry and raw.

Unfortunately, time
is limited, and lately, she’s been
using quite a lot. She
would sprinkle it on
dinner when it wasn’t quite
cooked; add a pinch to
a project at work; pour half
a teaspoon on
an excellent book; a dash
on her own head when
the morning came too soon.
She even tried adding
some time to itself, in
the hopes of making
it last longer. But in the end,
she only had the same
amount of time.

When the bottle was empty
she sprang to the garden
and scoured the seedlings
that cracked through
the freshly thawed earth.
But time was out of season,
or so it seemed, so
she dug through the
ground with her hands
to find the roots. The
soil stained fingers, caught
under her nails, as she
made bigger the hole
around her. She kept
digging, deeper still,
until exhaustion overcame
her. She closed her eyes
and laid herself
to rest among the clay.

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