A Hand On Time

• Nicole Young, Grade 12
• Poetry
• 2009

Once were as rough as sandpaper,
As hoarse as the words of a sore throat,
Dirty around the edges,
Not perfect or evenly cut.
Wrinkled like the sheets of an unmade bed.
Every crease held a story.

Now the pages are blank,
The stories left untold.
Polished to transparency,
As delicate as glass.
The bed has been made, the sheets have been cleaned.
The memories scrubbed away.


They’re awkwardly placed.
They belong to no-one.
Their past is forgotten,
Their future complete.