Daylight Savings Time by Kelsa Graybill

We turn the clocks back one hour
it is never enough
frantic to use all the daylight–
frazzled to catch up on time.

To heal we must turn the clocks back
years, before the tragedy
that broke your heart,
and decades, before the war
and the PTSD and the affair
and your great-uncle’s suicide.
It is still not enough.

Now we must turn the clock back centuries,
before the oppression and genocide and crusades,
wounds that led to wounding,
grief that begat grief.

Unwind the clock far enough and
we’re in Palestine
and I see him weeping
at Lazarus’ tomb—
“Father, turn back the clocks.”

And time obeys.
Lazarus emerges,
death reverses,
no more curses.

I weep as I watch.
This is the time-turning
I have sought.

Why have all our turnings been in vain?
Does he weep with us over our pain?

The one who turned time for Lazarus
bowed to time
and allowed it to turn him back to dust.

We wait at his tomb,
at the grave of your great-uncle,
at home in the blistered hours of history.
“Father, turn back the clocks.”

Kelsa Graybill lives in eastern Pennsylvania with her husband and their Australian labradoodle. She writes about spiritual formation, embodiment, and nature at kelsagraybill.com.