Time Bomb by Carolynn Kingyens

          The photograph is concerned
          with the power that the past
          has to interfere with the present:
          the time bomb in the cupboard.

          — Penelope Lively

Sometimes complicated emotions,
too heavy to bear, require suspension,
not in a mid-air dangling kind of way
like ribboned mistletoe suspended
over a lone threshold,
or a golf course green colored piñata
in the shape of an angry T-Rex
suspended over the heads of small children
at the birthday party but rather a suspension
of reality — some faraway, metaphysical place
Where The Wild Things Are, and the emotional
baggage I refuse to feel right now,
you know — painful things
like my estranged mother's suicide,
whom I loved from afar, where it felt safe,
and a nagging dread that history
may repeat itself as only dysfunction can
so I hit an invisible pause button on life:
on CPAP machines and separate bedrooms;
on a daughter, whom I can't reach
no matter how hard I try;
on our mid-century modern home
where the floors are made
entirely of delicate egg shells.

But in this suspension, this pause,
I'm free to binge-watch YouTube videos
under cute animal channel names
like GeoBeats and Cuddle Buddies,
becoming a much-needed comfort
in the tumult like the one about
a lonely black and white yak
named Marge and a lonely
black and white cow
named Maxine that soon become
fast friends under the swath
of bright pink and orange sky,
living out the rest of their days
together on a humane ranch
in the middle of Montana.

Or the video about the quirky,
purple-haired retiree named Pauline,
who rescues a baby squirrel,
she names Earnest,
that falls from its nest, landing
serendipitously in the sanctuary
of her backyard.

Pauline ends up remodeling
half her home to accommodate
the on-going gymnastics
of an indoor pet squirrel;
perhaps filling some kind
of maternal void.

It's amazing what I can keep
at bay while suspended
in this jelly-like grief.

For one, an ocean of emotion
resides just outside myself
wanting full entry the way water
demands — by way of a slow, steady
seep into the depths of my cracked
psyche-boat as I stay afloat — for now
with the help of non-stop amusement
and Starbucks.

Yesterday, my daughter called me
Karen, and right now there's a massive
beehive suspended under my roof's eave
in the shape of a furious, ticking time bomb
about to fall and scatter, changing everything
for good.



Carolynn Kingyens is the author of two books of poetry — Before the Big Bang Makes a Sound (2020) and Coupling (2021), both published by Kelsay Books. In addition to poetry, Kingyens writes narrative essays, book / film reviews, and short fiction. Her short stories "Bye Bye, Miss American Pie" and "The Invitation" were selected for Best of Fiction 2021 and 2023 list, respectively, by Across the Margin, a Brooklyn-based arts & culture webzine and podcast.