The past is so horribly fast.

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I have a time machine But unfortunately it can only travel into the future at a rate of one second per second,

which seems slow to the physicists and to the grant committees and even to me.

But I manage to get there, time after time, to the next moment and to the next.

Thing is, I can't turn it off. I keep zipping ahead- well not zipping-And if I try

to get out of this time machine, open the latch,I'll fall into space, unconscious, then desiccated!

And I'm pretty sure I'm afraid of that.
So I stay inside.

There's a window, though. It shows the past.
It's like a television or fish tank.

But it's never live; it's always over. The fish swim in backward circles.

Sometimes it's like a rearview mirror, another chance to see what I'm leaving behind,

and sometimes like blackout, all that time
wasted sleeping.

Myself age eight, whole head burnt with embarrassment at having misspelled a word.

Myself lurking in a candled corner expecting
to be found charming.

I turn away from the window, anticipating a blow. I thought I'd find myself

an old woman by now, traveling so light in time. But I haven't gotten far at all.

Strange not to be able to pick up the pace as I'd like;
The past is so horribly fast.

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