elementia time

Writing

Familiar Hands

By Oli Ray

Time’s hands are surprisingly familiar for all the change they bring. Their grasp is a feeling we all know and yet always seem to forget until they put us a down.


What time Is It?

By Patrick Barry

“Within the surface of the fleeting river the wrinkled image of the city lay.” I stopped and observed this for some time deep in thought about how much I wanted a gas-powered sweater. Sadly, being a stand up comedian, I had little or no money.


The City

By Hana Spangler

Before time was invented, there was a city. Half of the city was as light as day, and the other half was as dark as night.


Masquerade

By Rachel Franklin

I. Blue chamber 
Take my hand, feel for flesh
beneath the glove, the mask
Catch the notes slipping through
the air (your fingers)
Dance until we die and await the
resurrection
Listen closely.
We will come alive again


time like falling snow

By Skylar Pappenfort

Memories, oh memories those fine grains of sand
Escape between your fingers to the beating of the band
Murmuring in harmony upon a demure heart
Oh what a lovely pas de deux in which we find our part
Rows of fleeting smiles and a million bluebird skies


Story of the Stone

By Blaire Ginsburg

Minor fissures,
Just hairline cracks,
Spread slowly
At first,
Fine lines on a
Smooth surface;
Creeping across a
Marble plain,
Barely making
A sound, but
Marking - scarring
- All the same.
See here, where


Variable

By SJ Dahms

They say that time is a constant,
In math world it is an unchanging letter k. 
But I say that it becomes a variable,
A perfect letter x. 
Time can be carefully controlled, ceaseless,
A cascading current.
But time becomes elastic, expendable,


MAP Testing

By Stephanie Kontopanos

“Take all the time you need,”
They said.
But now I’d much rather be in bed,
Because I’m 76 today.
My life is beginning to fade away.
“Take all the time you need,”
They said.
I hope you’re happy.
Now I’m dead.


Jasmine People

By Emma Olinger

On a Friday in the middle of January at about 12:30 in the afternoon, a little less than 10 people occupy the Chinese Cuisine. Among the nail salon, the boutique, and the FedEx office, it waits for customers.


Mother Time

By Anonymous

Between her slender fingers she pivots the earth
Amused by how the blues and greens twirl
We let the motion power us
Letting it rock us and push us, haunt us and slow us.
Our lives are dictated by her constant motion.
A motion beautifully blind to us.


Time’s Beauty

By Willow Vaughn

Time is a girl with curly hair that bounces with every step and twirl she takes
She talks with her hands but never fails to find the right word to say
She can be by your side one second and gone the next
Getting lost in the crowd is fun to her


Lover of Time

By Willow Vaughn

I seduced Time
I brought her thorny flowers, held her worn hands and kissed her softly
I caressed her flushed cheeks and played with her hair, long like a timeline
I ran my hands along her battle-won scars and her strong but delicate body


The Girl and The Timeless Wood

By Renee Born

In a far distant and long forgotten land, there stands a great forest. An ancient power is said to live within, fed into the earth through deep and powerful roots. The vastness of the strange forest covers a mountain from its base to its peak, brushing the clouds.


Little Time

By Renee Born

The night was warm and a blue haired girl sat alone at a bar. She was at one end, trying to catch a glimpse of a woman sitting opposite, a woman with long dark hair and caramel skin. Robyn knew her from somewhere, she was sure of it.


11:54

By Nora Larson

Vanessa and I talk.
We like talking.
The smell of acetone and wine
fight in the warm air.
A lull of
Avett Brothers music fills the
silence.
Our nail beds
burn,
from too many attempts at
“Nail Art”.
The clock reads


A Living Anachronism

By Amanda Pendley

As the years go by and we outgrow our old faces and our old skin and our old identities, 
I wonder to myself if we are really becoming new people at all, 
or if we are simply just accumulating more years and more selves 


disillusioned revolutions

By Hailey Alexander

The clock glares at me,
with the steady
accusations
of her hands –
Where will you be
In an hour,
 In a day,
 In a year?


4 a.m.

By Magda Werkmeister

a house can feel like a whole world
when you’re lying in your bed at 4 a.m.,
too early to rise in a coup against the lingering stars,
too late for the soft black of the backs of eyelids to last long enough,


Hourglass

By Elizabeth Joseph

I break down in the supermarket grocery aisles
because I only have five minutes to make the choice
between a variety of granola bars.