If I could build a time machine
and set the dial to
eleven fifty-nine pm
I’d lock the door
and hide in there.

I would write constellations
in magic marker
on the cool metal walls
draw shaky letters, half-words
on the floor
leave a strand of hair behind
for the archaeologists
to ponder.

I would light a single match
and then another
blow them out, one by one

I would never let the fire grow
I would never
let it stay.

I would keep my hands bound tight
in scratchy mittens
tape my fingers to the window frames
lock my eyelids open, staring through
the hate-smeared glass
till I saw everything

Link the stars like puzzles
in a worn-out children’s book
Decipher the code and realize
soon enough
I never hit the button
to go back.