One Poem by Lana Hechtman Ayers

Traveling Through Time

I took a wrong turn,
decelerated
to E=MC2,
spun out of control,
free fell
to a random moon
where gravity
trampolined,
I bounced and bumped
until I hit sand
and encountered a man
with eyes like prayer candles,
no smile because no mouth,
skin glistening like melting ice,
which I took as a sign
he’d understand,
so with the air remaining
in my lungs asked,
Can you point me,
please,
back to 1962,
year of my birth
on planet earth?
The man took my hand,
touched it to his chest,
where three hearts beat
orchestral rhythms,
spoke tingles to my fingers,
then answered in Morse code,
Every man must love
nothing more
than himself
in the guise of others.

 

Lana Hechtman Ayers, coffee-enthusiast, stargazer, has authored nine poetry collections and a novel. She manages three poetry presses and is a manuscript consultant. Lana lives on the Oregon coast of the United States where she enjoys the near-constant plunk of rain on the roof and the sea’s steady whoosh.

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