Possibilities

When time stops, I think of the possibilities. That’s all the poem said. I go to my teacher; ask Do you consider this a poem? Yes, she replies. Yes, I do. I tell her I don’t understand, that to me it makes no sense. I am told to think about it, yet I still don’t understand. I think back to when I played with stuffed animals. WE would play a game. The world had stopped, and we could do whatever we wanted. Sometimes, we visited Grandma. Other times we ate lots of candy. We played for hours and hours. There were endless possibilities—