Cuckoo Clock

Remember that tradition

when we all gathered

at the top of the hour

around the cuckoo clock and

danced,

possessed by the mechanical

bird’s dedication?

*

And there was our inheritance,

not the clock,

whose lifeless

frame left us at a garage

sale years later, rather

the rare fragment

of family, togetherness,

one last little joy.

*

The day

that clock broke, our family

stopped dancing

together. But in the mornings

between cartoons and

walking to school,

just us two

would dance in silence

as if in secret remembrance

while the tired bird

hibernated.

*

I think we were trying

to keep its spirit alive.

I learned about batteries,

squirreled away pennies,

figured I could balance

on your shoulders to fix it.

*

But eventually,

you moved on,

and I didn’t.

So, alone,

I’d stand in front of that clock,

waiting

for the hour to turn,

whispering,

“cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo.”

*

I have a reoccurring dream

you are facing the

sentimental time piece,

idling

in the haze,

waiting for me

to dance.

*

And we do.

*

You are not gone,

just that part of you.

And sometimes when the hour

turns, I can hear

the chimes and your

laughter.

*

I have never told you,

but I wonder if you miss

that part of me too.

***

Hello, wanderer.

It's good to see you again.

This poem is for the I Didn’t Say That Out Loud challenge. I'm curious, is there an artifact from your past that holds sentimental memories? I'd love to read about it in the comments.

xoxo, for now,

-your friend, lost in memories