The Hour Chimes
My grandmoter's mantel clock
ticks the minutes, chimes the hours--
murmuring flickers of memory,
glimmerings of possibility:
eyes freezing with anger
.....so well-deserved,
lips stuttering truths
.....I don't want to hear,
nose wrinkling in disdain
.....over some forgotten faux-pas,
fingers reaching, wiping away
.....cascading tears he caused,
arms encircling, holding close
.....to the point of entrapment,
feet finally wandering home
.....after long months of absence.
The hour chimes, groaning thick with decades,
waking me from restless dreams, dreary sleep.
Copyright 2010 by Susanne Barrett
It's far from a happy poem. I just imagined the Shepherd Girl print hanging on our wall, and a troubled relationship that seems to glare from her resentful eyes....
Only one poem is left for this challenge, then the editing begins!
Writing painstakingly this day,
1 comment:
It may not be happy, but it was a saddening joy to read.
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