Daylight Savings


There was the hour 
when raging with fever 
they thrashed. The hour 
when they called out in fright. 
The hour when they fell asleep 
against our bodies, the hour 
when without us they might die. 
The hour before school 
and the hour after. 
The hour when we buttered their toast 
and made them meals 
from the four important food groups—
what else could we do to insure they’d get strong and grow? 
There was the hour where we were the spectators 
at a recital, baseball game, 
when they debuted in the school play. 
There was the silent hour in the car 
when they were angry. The hour 
when they broke curfew. The hour 
when we waited for the turn of the lock 
knowing they were safe and we could finally 
close our eyes and sleep. The hour 
when they were hurt 
or betrayed and there was nothing we could do 
to ease the pain. 
There was the hour 
when we stood by their bedsides with ginger-ale 
or juice until the fever broke. The hour 
when we lost our temper and the hour 
we were filled with regret. The hour 
when we slapped their cheeks and held 
our hand in wonder. 
The hour when we wished for more. 
The hour when their tall and strong bodies, 
their newly formed curves and angles in their faces 
and Adam’s apple surprised us—
who had they become? 
Hours when we waited and waited. 
When we rushed home from the office 
or sat in their teacher’s classroom 
awaiting the report of where they stumbled 
and where they excelled, the hours 
when they were without us, the precious hour 
we did not want to lose each year 
even if it meant another hour of daylight. 

~ Poem by Jill Bialosky

One thought on “Time to Change the Clocks

  1. When I began reading this poem, I had the strong feeling the you were writing it. Seeing

    Sent from my iPhone

    >

    Like

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