Sitting on top your mantel,
chiming every hour
on the hour. But now
it’s more of a scratch
than a chime. It’s
crying an S.O.S and
my ears were the only set
to pop up
for the fifty year old
piece of our family’s white flag.
Only I heard the siren
it sang so softly.
It’s been my music
for life and now
that you’re both gone,
it has run out of juice, no
sheets left to play. After
aging alongside you with
every tick, the clock
is being forced to let go—
so am I.