THE TIME BACK (YOU WON’T GET)
The time back.
Eat, sleep, repeat. Eat, sleep, repeat. Eat, sleep, repeat.
The time back to for the top of the cooker, cleaned.
The time back for the toaster emptied.
The time back for the washing machine door drum wiped.
The time back for the microwave platter and splatter.
The time back for the door wipe.
The time back for all of the crumbs to be removed from the knife and fork drawer.
Eat, sleep, repeat. Eat, sleep, repeat. Eat, sleep, repeat.
The time is gone — the hug you didn’t hold long enough, the child who grew while you wiped and washed, the moments you thought you’d get back.
The jobs remain. The time doesn’t. Your child has grown and gone. The jobs remain. The time doesn’t.
Wishing you held tighter, but you didn’t know. You did your chores. You performed societal tasks. Wife and mother roles, expectations, when really you should have just held tight.
With instinct (gut feeling) overruled by task.
Blood and bone grow. Chores — plastic, wood, metal, brick and mud — remain the same.

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