Time Machine

Thirteen and drunk
she woke up to her 18 year old friend
thrusting, panting
on top of her
while she laid there
silent, motionless

I draw blueprints of the time machine
while at work-
a golden sled, a dial, three light bulbs
this tiny machine will pierce
black holes and exit the present
with a tornado of colors
twisting light and sound,
for a moment the boundaries
between past and present
will be tangible
like a thick curtain
and I will puncture its fabric
catapulting into the shadows
of the universe-

So I can be there beside her
to say
enough, enough
and stop him from unleashing
his violence

But instead,
the past is suspended
over my head
and I can't pull it in front of me
like a canvas to rewrite, rework, reimagine
I must sit and digest all the things I couldn't do
and throw my time machine diagram
into the fire.

(Tiger in a cage,
I'm like a tiger in a cage)

But maybe,
just maybe
in the future
If we revisit it together
we can tug on that thread of pain
throwing new moments in the mix
until we've connected
the past, present, and future
into our own beautiful sonata
that we'll play over and over
until our voices are louder
and stronger
than his voice will ever be.