Wednesday, April 25, 2012


This is the last of something,
so make it last. Smooth out
the wrinkles and keep it
behind glass. Display this piece
on the mantel--that's where my family
kept precious things: the nesting dolls,
my 'best actor' trophy, the antique
clock. When it chimed at nine,
I tremored because it was time for bed,
signaling the last minutes of what I knew
as life. When I fell asleep, things
turned sketchy. Monsters, cars without
brakes. Rivers I needed to, but couldn't,
cross. My father's cross with me. I won't
go to bed. I want to pull back the hands
of that old clock, and re-meet today.

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