Poem #3

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Mothers and Daughters

I wake to the ticking of the clock on mother’s face.
The unheard, yet perceived, ticking calls out to me –
Get up, get moving, don’t stop,
Listen to the clock.
Tick-tock
Tick-tock
Tick-tock

Mother’s clock at half past eleven
Beckons me without speaking,
Go tend the children,
Go feed the flock,
Listen to the clock.
Tick-tock
Tick-tock
Tick-tock

Once she tended children
And she fed the flock.
I wonder now, is this my duty?
Is this my destiny?
I listen to the clock.
Tick-tock
Tick-tock
Tick-tock

The ceaseless ticking of the clock –
Is it ticking from her face or mine?
Where is her Jesus – her savior – who hides in the clock?
Can he slow the ticking?
Can he slow the clock?
Tick-tock
Tick-tock
Tick-tock

I leave the questions in my bed
And move to mother’s room.
Wrinkled frailness rest amidst well-worn sheets.
For now, I’ll forget the children,
I’ll forget the flock.
I silently give my mother what comfort I can,
I toil to wind her clock, because –
This is my duty,
This is my destiny.

 

 

 

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