Suzanne Cottrell | Not enough time

Wishing I could slow down
the passage of time,
Needing to tell her
one more thing.

My mind,
a blur of thoughts,
like the fluttering
of hummingbird wings.

She lay motionless,
I knew the urgency,
but I couldn’t bring
my words into focus.

Unable to adjust
the camera’s aperture.
Her eyes closed;
her grasp weakened.

I needed her to know
I never thought
it was her fault.
I should have told her.

Now it was too late.
Tears welled in my eyes,
yet when I looked
at her face,

her tranquil demeanor
eased my tormented mind.
She seemed to know
what I had wanted to say.

Suzanne Cottrell lives with her husband and three rescue dogs in rural Piedmont North Carolina. An outdoor enthusiast and retired teacher, she enjoys hiking, biking, gardening, and Pilates. She loves nature and its sensory stimuli and particularly enjoys writing and experimenting with poetry and flash fiction.  Her poetry has appeared in The Avocet, The Remembered Arts Journal, Plum Tree Tavern, Haiku Journal, Naturewriting, Dragon Poet Review, and Women’s Voices Anthology (These Fragile Lilacs Literary Journal).

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