“It Goes So Fast”

“It goes so fast,”
she said at 15,
pushing away from parents,
being chased by boys.

“It goes so fast,”
she said at 30,
bringing her baby to term,
pulling her sisters together.

“It goes so fast,”
she said at 50,
letting her little girl go,
making meals for two.

“It goes so fast,”
she said at 72,
grinning behind the family gathered,
guarding her grandchild,
missing the men who’d come and gone.

“It went so fast,”
they said around her ashes
and picked through knick-knacks
after the funeral reception.

Each took home artifacts
of who she was with them,
not knowing how she was alone,
or where the time had gone.
Looking back fondly
and forward frightened,
they held hands for now,
wondering when it would
end.