YOUR OLD WRIST WATCH.

ON WEARING MY LATE SON WRIST WATCH

I found your old

wrist watch

amongst your things;

strap worn, unstitched,

the face of the watch

stopped at a given time,

metal touched with grime.

Don't know when

you wore it last,

but I guess your being

still tingles along the vibes,

despite the years gone by.

I wonder if you

chopped up your day

by it, wonder what hours

you set aside for play,

what for work or sleep?

You're dead now, so that

information will have to keep,

the hours spent, the moments

slipped by in the blink

of a human eye, the ticking

watch ticking off

the time allotted you,

your span set out,

the final year

mapped out maybe,

for none to know or see.

I hold your watch,

allow the sense of you

to come through

the metal workings,

silver cast, leather strap;

the sense of you

pulsing as I wear it

briefly on my wrist;

the back of the watch

and my skin touching

as if kissed. I will put

the wrist watch away,

in some drawer, for

another, some day,

but it is you, my son,

that is wanted, that’s missed.

Reviews

[Blue]

Things are beyond the obvious. They often hold something precious or represent someone beloved. I think that's what makes them worth keeping.

"I will put
the wrist watch away,

in some drawer, for
another, some day,
but it is you, my son,
that is wanted, that’s missed."

This is a heartbreaking poem, Terry... I'm sorry for your loss.

[Terry Collett]

Thank you for reading & commenting, ArzelJoy