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Time Capsule

Traveling forward and back.

A year ago to the day.

The ice is singing.

Or crying.

Or just lamenting in clear tones to no one in particular.

If string theory had a sound, I imagine it would sound something like this.

Catapulting between here and there.


A loud whisper, a haunting sort of echo.

Distant, immediate.

An unfamiliar tongue.

An open mouth, an open doorway.

The water is shifting, the ice too.

Gasping and moaning as they take on a new shape.

Like they always do.

Melodic. Eerie. A momentary lapse of self.

She calls out expecting an answer.

© Elizabeth McLaughlin


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