Wise Poets – James Crews – Daylight Saving, Age Five

James Crews

The night my mother turned back the clocks
I thought that while we slept the hours stolen
from everyone on earth would collect like coins
in a bank vault, so we’d wake up rich at last.
Even as my mother explained that it meant
only extra dreams in winter, only late light
returned to us with daffodils and rain in spring,
I was cupping my hands under every lamp,
keeping the fridge open, so the cold brightness
would pool at my feet. Honey, she said, it doesn’t
work like that. But I didn’t listen. I was seeing
daylight leaking slowly from the dripping comb
of the sun and into bowls, jars, and bottles—
anything with a lid I placed on the window sills
to gather the sweet morning light I wanted
to smear on slices of bread, eat with a spoon.