Grandmother Clock

Life revolves around her placid face.

Glassy and expressionless.

With a large golden pendent swinging silently from her neck.

Each stroke consistent and heavy.

Dictating time—which sift through my fingers, memories unmade.

My heart

drums

dutifully

with the

gilded metronome

that swings to her

unrelenting

beat.

Those delicate hands mark the gliding of moments wasted.

And upon each hour I cringe to hear her chiming voice.

Still,

my only companion. A serene and indifferent adornment on my wall,

to distract me from myself.