Night of the Clocks
In Jacksonville, an old mining town
where antique clocks await adoption,
we picked out our first, a Gilbert wall clock
with ornate spindles and soft tick-tick voice.
Soon the fireplace mantel became home
for a simple kitchen clock with short pendulum,
while the sounds of a Black Forest cuckoo
sounded hour and half-hour by the front door.
A schoolhouse clock traveled from England,
its deep bongs no longer calling children.
A few years later, the solid brass, heavy, U.S.
World War II ship clocks began gathering.
The resonant chimes of the ship clocks continue
to call the watches for sailors long-gone.
On a quiet night they are joined with the ticking
from electric and battery powered newbies.
When the grandsons come to spend the night,
pendulums are stilled, batteries removed,
tick-tocking silenced. Time is put to rest until
the morning finds Grandpa with his clock key.
Jeneaka | Midtwirl | Charcoal and Pastel
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