Monday, 9 January 2017

Nanna's Grandfather Clock:

It lived in the shadows of her bedroom, hers and Pop’s,
Though in my memory Pop is gone
Except in that room he wasn’t – a memory I guess
Like the distant ringing of that bell
He clanged every Christmas at Bid’s
Walking the street as Santa Clause for the kids,
The many of us who sat, brothers, sisters and cousins alike –
Although this memory is not mine – like that clock –
The clock that sat in her bedroom, the clock, tall and proud,
Silent mostly, a soldier, a testimony to secrets I did not know
While sometimes it gonged, an eerie sound
But Nanna liked eerie – like the picture she kept
Of Jesus that glowed in the dark, especially his red, red heart
That she saved for us at Christmas, when she turned it on
When we were allowed inside
Though usually my sister and I were not,
Cousin Terry was, and Steven too, just not us
And to this day I know not why that was -
The memory sits there, like that clock, in shadow and myth

Filled with the terrible shaking of legend and mischief.

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