Unbuttoned Time

At five
my feet did not touch the floor.
The rocking chair kept me
afloat.

Nothing chased me.
Time sat nearby,
unbuttoned,
watching dust learn sunlight.

The world arrived
at a size I could hold.
A day bent easily,
slid into my palms,
and stayed.

Now my son counts
past his hands.
Six arrives
already leaving.
His shoes remember.
He does not.

Ordinary things do not stay.
Somewhere,
my feet are still swinging.
Waiting for the floor
to arrive.