Pocket Watch
He wore it at weddings
in his vest pocket,
The conductor of his own train,
the master of his own time.
Pursing his lips,
with a deft flick of his hand,
He could mark the moment
of arrival,
His status as survivor
in a world of war and broken families.
Everyone would see the chain
and know.
Survivors ourselves,
we pass this on to you –
Memories from a box of old photos
condensed into something gold,
Something that can be opened
and closed at will.
Perhaps the lesson is:
The hands move
against the tension of a spring,
So life unfolds
only as the coils unwind.
When we say,
“He would have wanted you to have this,”
In what world
does the “wanting” happen?
Once upon a time:
A man we love bought this watch
to commemorate himself.
Now, with its handing down,
we celebrate passages,
We celebrate how we grow into ourselves
as the clockwork beats.
All of us want you to have this.
This poem appeared in the Summer 2017 issue of Poetry Quarterly.