Dry clock ticking in the empty hall
Rattles like old bones, a dull dusty
Beat like the clicking of false teeth
In a withered crone sitting
At her window watching
Magpies in the garden.
Clock heart sounds hollow
Its pinewood box a casket
The body shrouded in silk
Wheels spin imperceptibly
Still alive but comatose
Faint pulse all that’s left
In the silent house closed
For winter. Snow gathers.
The rooms echo lingering time
Hours stop finally as the chain
Drops heavily, carpet absorbing
Its last fall, now quiet the clock
Waits, paused between midnight
And spring as snow seals the door
Until the first ruffled crows return.
© by Emily Strauss.
Used with the author’s permission.
Emily Strauss lives near San Francisco, California. A former English teacher who now tutors privately, Emily’s poems have appeared in Wordletting, Snakeview, Poetry Macao, and other journals. Her work tends to focus on the natural world, on images and sense perceptions. When she's not writing, Emily enjoys gardening, cooking, camping, and hiking.
Posted 09/30/2011 09:55 AM
The clock as bones, false teeth, it's heart in a casket--well done! It clutches at me.
Posted 09/30/2011 07:46 AM
The quality of writing in this poem is simply superb. One can only imagine the number of revisions it took to write a poem like this until its remarkable sound and simplicity were achieved. I hope to see more work by Emily Strauss on Your Daily Poem in the future.
Posted 09/30/2011 06:49 AM