The Passage of Time

Taken verbatim from my final English project
This poem is about the past few years of my life. After I got married and found out I was pregnant, my time is measured in different increments than it used to be. From that first positive test (and there were four or five after that first, just to be sure) life seemed to shift. The 41 weeks of pregnancy seemed to mark the beginning of a new time in my life. After that point, time seemed to slow down for awhile. Then, without any warning whatsoever, life sped up. My son is already almost 20 months old and I have no idea where a lot of that time went. Life isn’t measured in time, but in how you spend that time. This was what I aimed to capture with this poem.

x . x . x . x . x

The Passage of Time

The passage of time is not measured
in days and weeks and months.
The passage of time if measured
in bouts of nausea and cravings,
in outgrown pants and billowy shirts,
in hormonal rages and trips to the doctor,
in ultrasound pictures and prenatal vitamins,
in stretch marks and weight gain.

The passage of time is measured
in sitting and waiting,
in contractions and shallow breaths,
in epidurals and pain medication,
in pushing and screaming and pain.

The passage of time is measured
in blankets and cries and the blessed,
elusive quiet moments of sleep,
in giggles and burps and sighs of content,
in sitting up and starting to crawl,
in first bites and first steps,
in new clothes and playground slides,
in packed lunches and homework.

The passage of time is measured
in dogs and cats and other pets,
in dishes and cleaning,
in school, jobs, vacations and routines,
in moving, settling and making friends.

The passage of time is measured
in graduations and weddings,
in anniversaries, birthdays and holidays,
in births and funerals.
The passage of time is measured in
life and pain and love and death.

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