Memory Lane #5 -- The Clock

Throughout the house, its
chimes mark the hour and its half.
I lie in my bed and feel my heart
beat to its steady tick, tick, tick.

My grandfather opens his passed-down
pocket watch to compart its time with
the clock on the mantle that markd the
passing of our days. It is our grandmother
who slides the brass key into its place
and gives the clock its job to count yet
another day. This ritual, a childhood
comfort, shows me that life goes on
in measured ways…seconds, minutes,
hours, lifetimes.

The clock is silent now; its key lost
in the litter of life, my grandmother, a
sweet memory. Time has become fluid now,
it no longer marches through the day. It
stops, slides, shimmers, at times,
disappears as I wander through other
worlds, exploring beyond the clock
on the mantle, until at last, I, too,
am silent, hopefully a sweet memory
to another.

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