Within me
drones a
consistency,
a metronome.
It insists on
the same &
no matter
how random
the outside,
the tick
Tick!
Tick!
Inside
counts down:
microwave
timers,
estranged-
people
calling,
I know the
millisecond
before it happens;
I mean it.
I sidestep surprise
this way,
have an innate
knowing of due-dates
and new years,
the pitter-patter
of patterns unraveling.
I view
time as a
stim, or a
cleverly
redundant
rhythm.
It’s not the
events I see
but the
twelves and sevens
and all other
sacred numbers,
months, weeks
beating on
as my words
….three… two… one!
& try to
keep track,
measuring
to make sense of it,
I steady
myself
through
repetitions,
metronomic,
to imitate harmony.
Order! I draw it
with my body,
— telling time in autism.
So, maybe
if I move
a certain way
I can glide!
— becoming
a palindrome,
so consistent,
I am read the same
from memoir
to baby-album.
​
To baby album
from memoir,
I am read the same,
so consistent,
becoming
a palindrome.
I can glide
a certain way
if I move!
So maybe,
telling time in autism —
With my body,
I draw it:
Order, harmony,
to imitate metronomic repetitions
through myself.
I steady to
make sense of it,
measuring to keep track,
try to, “three, two, one”
as my words
beat weeks, months,
sacred numbers,
and all other 7’s and 12’s,
— the rhythm,
redundant, clever:
It’s not the events I see —
As a stim, I tell time,
patterns unraveling,
the pitter-patter
of New Year’s, due dates.
I have an innate knowing
this way, I mean it —
I sidestep surprise
before it happens.
the millisecond of
estranged people calling,
microwave-timers counting down!
Inside
tick,
tick,
tick,
The Outside,
how random!
doesn’t matter,
And the same, it insists on,
a metronome —
[a consistency
drones
within me.]
​
© Maggie McCombs 2024. All Rights Reserved.