Next Year - Marika Hackman

Oh, Father Time

Grow me, change me

Age and shed the infant skin that was mine

Did you hear the wind

Howling, growling?

She knows something

She is older than I

Progress is slow on this heart that I grow

I’ll love a lot next year

Beat to the drum

Constant motion, vessels pulsing

Every second we die

Hands to the sun

Burning, breathing, glowing, healing

Sustenance of the sky

Wholemeal and coal are better for the soul

But I believe in blood and lust

Oh, Father Time

Rock me gently, I’m not ready

Can’t we stay for a while?

And listen in to the wind

Melody of melancholy

She’s a lullaby

But send me to sleep and my mother

She will weep

Alma Mater I’ve not met

Here’s to the womb and the human catacomb

I am not a child quite yet

No, I am not a child quite yet