|Big Room by Andrew Wyeth|
The funeral tomorrow
Estate sale the day after
the memories persistent
and so rich and red like the apples.
She could still hear
the thump of her cane
on wooden floor
the tick-tock of the clock.
She wanted just one thing
from this house
where she spent her summers
the clock that once scared her so
It's just my mother's clock
her Aunt would say.
But why must it tick-tock so loudly
So you can hear time passing.
Why must it pass? I want it to stay.
You cannot hold time in your hand.
The conversation so oft repeated
now over but in her memories
the clock had not worked for years
She wanted now only one thing
To make her Auntie Boe's clock
so she could hold time in her hands.
In loving memory of Auntie Boe and all the relatives I remember
who lived in old houses with scary clocks.
The worst of these was the coo-coo clock at Uncle Ray's.
It was an owl that went whooo on the hours.
It owned the dark at the top of the stairs.
See the Mag 132 for links to other creative takes on the prompt this week.