Grandfather's Clock

11.16.21

I am now sitting at my mom’s table
in front of her father’s company clock
which is ticking so loudly.

It is like a town crier shouting
about the passage of time and
imploring you to be here with him,
in the moment
on whatever corner
he wails from.

    Which happens to be this room
    with big windows and
    the morning sun sliced by olive trees and
    laid horizontally before me.

I am half here with him
appreciating
but the other half of me sweats, thinking:
To what end?