Poem -

A Portrait of My Mother as a Wrist-Watch

A Portrait of My Mother as a Wrist-Watch

I see shoulders
hanging heavily like balanced weights upon a sturdy hinge.
Her arms the unpolished latch of a filing cabinet
coated to the tip with the oily gleam of deadlines and reminders.
She shifts her attention tediously,
ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  her expression now centered,
ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  she holds my profile securely within her tight clasp,
ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  the curved confinement of her gaze.
ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย Her patient surface, breaking apart beneath
ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย like panic, drowned out under tones of reassurance.
She hums muted sacrifice softly, whispering its ticking notes like a lullaby,
the scratches on her favorite record, free
of a broken needle.
Her eyes like amber
Still holding on to its relics.