Two Years Later by Claire Ockner

it is that time of year again,

the day is almost here –

the one that stained my calendar

and cost me all my years.


the pages turn, the months unfold,

each seeming like the last –

but all are stained by that cursed date,

that makes the present past.


twenty-four pages ripped,

but each feels like the first –

two years, or minutes, I’m unsure,

since the day that my world burst.


two years your head’s been made of stone, 

two years my heart has froze –

And still it feels like minutes since

our world was overthrown.