Six Seconds

One second.
Two seconds.
Not that my mind counted then,
but it does in reflection.
Three seconds.
Four seconds.
At seven seconds the heart stops.
Five seconds.
To find out they shocked mice
and extrapolated for people.
Six seconds.
Six seconds and it stops.
My heart keeps beating.
In the movies sparks fly,
lights flash.
They shake and they convulse,
dancing to some sped up techno remix
that no one else can hear.
They experience it,
putting on a spectacular show,
and they forget it.
I experienced it,
but I put on no spectacular show
and I will never forget it
each time I cringe from a power cord,
feel my lungs empty of air from bare copper,
or the blackness fades over my eyes
at the sound of thunder.

One second.
Two seconds.
Time seemed to slow down
as I counted the seconds away.
Three seconds.
Four seconds.
A soft breeze licked the nape of my neck.
Five seconds.
My hands were damp, but I dared not to wipe them
out of fear of missing a single moment.
Six seconds.
Six seconds and she freed herself,
pulled her snagged skirt back down
over her white flesh and green cotton,
covering her flushed face with her hand
(her nails were green too)
and disappeared,
her shoes going click click click
against the pavement
to the beat of my heart going tick tick tick
against my sternum.
Thirteen years had been lived
before the shock of puberty
and seven more after
before the shock of stupidity
(although it can be argued they are the same)
and still,
in just six seconds,
your life can change.