Is Time Travel Possible?

At kitchen table, I regard my young self

gazing on purple bush.

Chewing sugared walnut,

I’m back savoring Gram’s delectable bread

that disentangled, soothed early years.

I devour another slice under lilac canopy.

Is this a figment, a veil that will soon dissolve?


Inquisitive mood dances festive

when my ears bend to dad’s glee-filled voice

hopping from one Croatian word

to the next sonic utterance.

I open unlocked door to his enticing vibrato.

My dinky feet shuffle, joined hands, clap pure glee.

Can this be real right now, right here?

I know that it is, even as my hair thins silver

looking more like her every day.


These visions, these sounds ferment in me,

sooth as a cradle song.

Some may call these illusions, memories,

nonsense, living in the past, but she is here

so is button accordion on his happy knee.

His slippered feet bounce like gossip at family picnic.

Incandescent images sober me,

when her quiet voice speaks to scatter silence.

“You only live once” resounds.

Eyes look through me as if through a pane of glass.


I see reflected future self as hers.

We sit at long-ago kitchen table,

she uses elegant gestures,

exaggerated movements I recognize as mine.

Understand her molten tenderness—

a hope for my vintage self.

In comfortable drowse we peer out window.

Sprawling sunburst afternoon warms flowering lilac

exactly like it was— pungent and comforting

many years ago, like today, or maybe tomorrow.

I overflow with miraculous zest,

Transfixed into wondering if “we only live once”

is but a slip in time?


Inspiration from “Brief Answers to Big Questions by Stephen Hawking


Marianne Lyon

Marianne has been a music teacher for 43 years. After teaching in Hong Kong, she returned to the Napa Valley and has been published in various literary magazines and reviews including Ravens Perch, TWJM Magazine, Earth Daughters and Indiana Voice Journal. She was nominated for the Pushcart prize in 2017. She is a member of the California Writers Club and an Adjunct Professor at Touro University in California.

Mozart’s Starling

I read somewhere that

Mozart had a pet starling


He called the starling singvogel

or was that an old German toy


He taught the bird to sing a song

or was it the other way around


And did the bird really come

when Mozart called or did it


secretly wish it belonged to

Constanze of the soft breast


instead of Wolfie (Johannes

Chrysostomus Wolfgangus


Theophilus Mozart to give

the man his proper name)


If I had a starling I’d call it

Constanze and ask it to sing


a song about the brief musical

career of Mozart’s starling


an avian concerto from

one composer to another


Sally Zakariya

Sally Zakariya’s poetry has appeared in some 75 print and online journals and been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Her most recent publication is The Unknowable Mystery of Other People (Poetry Box, 2019). She is also the author of Personal Astronomy, When You Escape, Insectomania, and Arithmetic and other verses, as well as the editor of a poetry anthology, Joys of the Table. Zakariya blogs at


All being can correctly be spoken of with ‘one voice’ (univocity) as John Duns Scotus put it. What I am you also are, and so is the world.” —Richard Rohr: What You See Is What You Are

Today I heard my voice speaking to me from the oak outside the kitchen window. Like a good Quaker, she got right to the point. It is a beautiful day, she said. A dreadful day. The sun is warm and glowing. Burning.  Blinding. My voice is alone out here. My voice is part of the history of the world, and everything in it that ever was and ever will be, the roar of the dinosaur, the howl of the baby not yet born, the star exploding into lightyears past. Even the trees themselves singing as they traverse the orbit of their rings of life.

I listened. The silence was stunning. Living. Loud.

Marian Kaplun Shapiro

Marian Kaplun Shapiro, a previous contributor, is the author of a professional book, Second Childhood (Norton, 1988), a poetry book, Players In The Dream, Dreamers In The Play (Plain View Press, 2007) and two chapbooks: Your Third Wish, (Finishing Line, 2007); and The End Of The World, Announced On Wednesday (Pudding House, 2007). A Quaker and a psychologist, her poetry often embeds the topics of peace and violence by addressing one within the context of the other. A resident of Lexington, she is a five-time Senior Poet Laureate of Massachusetts. She was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2012.

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