Public Republic

Jeremy Paden

Photo: KJGarbutt

He asks me, Are you
finding time to write?

I smile, not because I’m not.

We both know time isn’t
something you find lying
about the house like spare

change, a lost toy, a postcard
from a lover long forgotten,
stuck in book not read in years.

Time must be hoarded.

Rationed like coffee, sugar,
smokes, bacon, butter, eggs.

I ask how he managed:
grading essays, faculty meetings,
little league, and dance recitals,

how he was able to save up
enough words, enough time

to speak with his wife
at the end of the day.

He smiles, and says,
We’ve separated.