my mother texts me to tell me she’s thinking of me, and i wish she wouldn’t. don’t text, don’t think, after fifteen years, it’s time to let shit go.
there’s a clock on my childhood bedroom wall, and she’s polishing the glass, marking sections in ten-minute increments for telling the time- now, it’s time for her to turn on her heel and leave.
time zones and grief, 5,000 miles and clock segments that put up barriers between us, “people you may know” become people i certainly… don’t.
like hands on a clock, we move on.
Tei Hurst (she/her) is a non-fiction loving lesbian hailing from the south of England and studying English and creative writing at West Chester University. She can be found online @teihurst.