Heirloom

“My Grandfather’s clock was too large for the shelf so it stood ninety years on the floor…”  

—Henry Clay Work, 1875

The grandfather clock really did belong to my grandfather.

My grandparents moved in, and the clock moved also,

standing in the family room for ten years,

chiming every fifteen minutes.

When I woke up at night,

I’d listen for those chimes

to tell the time.

Mom or dad wind it once a week,

getting the key out of the secret compartment,

winding backwards to protect the gears,

One of my uncles comes to visit a lot.

He hates the clock—it wakes him at night.

My other uncle only visited once.

He asked how we could sleep with all that noise?

But we don’t hear it at all.

It broke once, and we sat there and listened

to see if we’d fixed it.

Twenty minutes later none of us could recall if it had rung.

Grandma died last summer,

so we cleaned the room and moved the clock.

Dad said that when he was growing up,

He woke up at night

and listen for those chimes

to tell the time

My brothers are indifferent to the grandfather clock,

but I like it, and it’s been promised to me.

Someday it will move to my house,

and my children

will wake up at night

and listen for those chimes

to tell the time.