By Rex Ybañez
Does time fly or are
tempests fugitives? One can
give the saying a test by throwing
watches in brute breeze. If gust
carries them away, then it’s fair
to claim that the straps flap off, though
once you want those minutes back, you
realize the wind’s a thief, so rewind
worst case in mind to keep Fossil Gold—
a sigh of relief—but you have already
grown old thinking over this scenario.
*Latin for “Time flees”
When the rains come,
show me your blossom smile
and let winds whisper love songs
between cracks of light
as your verdant teeth
chatter in the chill.
As your arms get strong enough,
let me grip tightly to them,
swing gently from them,
and hammock comfortably
in your grand canopy.
Lastly, and if all possible,
please shade me from the fireball,
and always allow your roots
to be a better metaphor.
Rex Ybañez is a 22-year-old poet living in Bolivar, Missouri. He has recently graduated from Southwest Baptist University as an English major with a Spanish minor. From 2011-2012, he was a member of the Missouri State Poetry Society. He has been published in White Ash Literary Magazine, his university’s literary journal SCOP, and the Missouri State Poetry Society anthology Grist. In his spare time, he continues to put his name out in different poetry communities, reads diligently, plays bass guitar, and runs a writing blog at http://rp-ybanez.tumblr.com/. Currently, he is taking a year off school, but plans on going to graduate school for an MFA in creative writing or library sciences.