Rosie

She is square

by no means small

and for me

always there

and not just

in after thought;

She was pale-

faced and fair

...She is aged

but like film

stars, without

as much decay;

and though we

have moved on

She has not...

Waiting rather

than stopped;

facing out all

that has gone-on

to waste except

the Time with

which we have

been graced...

She was in

our youth like

the Art Deco,

a movement

precise yet

unburdened

with details

as such...

we knew each

figure by heart

the contours

which tiptoe,

as marks on the wall

...even in the dark

though to be sure

we left the little light,

as it was charmingly

called by the door

to the bath

so no one

should fall

Her hands

were by far her

dearest parts

to behold and

when we'd pace

day or night

she would

gesture and cluck

in that tongue

of les objets

tres foreign...

while we, as

he, she or many

soliliquied.

When she came

to us as a sort

of Governess,

she was chic

with no make up

and though designed

for dressing up,

we dared not...

we liked her best

with the rouge

and black liner

washed off.

She could have

stood many a

color no doubt

but those were

the two that

we had in the box

...then we too

grew more

sophisticated

and sauve

with slates

blank and

far off...

I know

she is still there

struck in awe;

stopped merrily

in the long

of corridor,

all the way

at the end of

the hall... faceless

white and square

I've named her

only just so...

after all this time,

our timekeeper...

...Rosie...

Notre horloge.

01.16.23

Inanimate Objects Challenge @Melpomene