The Locket
Posted: 14 Apr 2023, 20:54
V5:
The Locket
The gold is wearing now;
Sara’s worn it so long
around her neck,
she touches it
without realizing it.
It carries an ultrasound image
of our daughter,
our first child.
The grainy
black and white image
looks like the moon’s surface,
our daughter somewhere
on it. Even now
when I gaze up
at the night sky I often recall
our one photo of her,
and what could have been.
Today would have been
her 5th birthday.
She would have loved
superheroes, zombies, dolls.
Maybe she would love to dance
to rock n roll as most girls do
at this age.
When alone my wife
sometimes slips out her locket,
opens its clasp
and gazes longingly at it—
the way my grandfather
would fondle
his cherished gold watch.
Perhaps Sara sees
in her precious
locket
another type of watch,
one which tries to measure
the incalculable:
our love and time with Suzie,
which can never
be recovered.
V4:
The Locket
The gold is wearing now;
she's worn it so long around her neck,
she touches it without realizing it.
It carries an ultrasound image
of our daughter, our first child.
The grainy black and white image
looks like the moon’s surface,
our daughter somewhere on it.
Even now when I gaze up
at the night sky I often recall
our one photo of her,
and what could have been. Today
would have been her 5th birthday.
Perhaps she would have loved
superheroes, zombies, dolls.
Maybe she would love to dance
to rock n roll as most girls do
at this age.
When she thinks that no one
is watching, my wife
sometimes slips out her locket,
opens its clasp
and gazes longingly at it.
The way my grandfather
used to pull from his pocket
a cherished watch, tethered
to a chain.
But it's as if my wife sees
in her cherished possession
another type of watch,
which tries to measure
the incalculable, time
lost.
V3:
The Locket
The gold is wearing now;
she's worn it so long around her neck,
she touches it without realizing it.
It carries an ultrasound image
of our daughter, our first child.
The grainy black and white image
looks like the moon’s surface,
our daughter somewhere on it.
Even now when I gaze up
at the night sky I often recall
our one photo of her,
and what could have been. Today
would have been her 5th birthday.
Perhaps she would have loved
superheroes, zombies, dolls.
Maybe she would love to dance
to rock n roll as most girls do
at this age.
When she thinks that no one
is watching, my wife
sometimes slips out her locket,
opens its clasp
and gazes longingly at it.
The way my grandfather
used to pull from his pocket
a cherished watch, tethered
to a chain—to check the time
of day, or maybe the time lost,
which is maybe what my wife seeks,
the locket a type of watch
which tries to measure
the incalculable, time
lost.
V2:
The Locket
My wife wears a locket round her neck.
It carries an ultrasound image
of our daughter, our first child.
The grainy black and white image
looks like the moon’s surface,
our daughter somewhere on it.
Even now when I gaze up
at the night sky I often recall
our one photo of her,
and what could have been. Today
would have been her 5th birthday.
Perhaps she would have loved
superheroes, zombies, dolls.
Maybe she would love to dance
to rock n roll as most girls do
at this age.
When she thinks that no one
is watching, my wife
sometimes slips out her locket,
opens its clasp
and gazes longingly at it.
The way my grandfather
used to pull from his pocket
a cherished watch, tethered
to a chain—to check the time
of the day, or maybe the time lost,
which is maybe what my wife seeks,
the locket a type of watch
which tries to measure
the incalculable, time
lost.
V1:
The Locket
My wife wears a locket round her neck.
It carries an ultrasound image
of our daughter, our first child.
The grainy black and white image
looks like the moon’s surface,
our daughter somewhere on it.
Even now when I gaze up
at the night sky I often recall
our one photo of her,
and what could have been. Today
would have been her 5th birthday.
Perhaps she would have loved
superheroes, zombies, dolls.
Maybe she would love to dance
to rock n roll as most girls do
at this age. When she thinks
that no one’s watching, my wife
sometimes slips out her locket,
opens its clasp
and gazes longingly at it.
The way my grandfather
used to pull from his pocket
a cherished watch, tethered
to a chain—to check the time
of the day, or maybe the time lost,
which is maybe what my wife seeks,
the locket a type of watch
which tries to measure
the incalculable, time
lost.
The Locket
The gold is wearing now;
Sara’s worn it so long
around her neck,
she touches it
without realizing it.
It carries an ultrasound image
of our daughter,
our first child.
The grainy
black and white image
looks like the moon’s surface,
our daughter somewhere
on it. Even now
when I gaze up
at the night sky I often recall
our one photo of her,
and what could have been.
Today would have been
her 5th birthday.
She would have loved
superheroes, zombies, dolls.
Maybe she would love to dance
to rock n roll as most girls do
at this age.
When alone my wife
sometimes slips out her locket,
opens its clasp
and gazes longingly at it—
the way my grandfather
would fondle
his cherished gold watch.
Perhaps Sara sees
in her precious
locket
another type of watch,
one which tries to measure
the incalculable:
our love and time with Suzie,
which can never
be recovered.
V4:
The Locket
The gold is wearing now;
she's worn it so long around her neck,
she touches it without realizing it.
It carries an ultrasound image
of our daughter, our first child.
The grainy black and white image
looks like the moon’s surface,
our daughter somewhere on it.
Even now when I gaze up
at the night sky I often recall
our one photo of her,
and what could have been. Today
would have been her 5th birthday.
Perhaps she would have loved
superheroes, zombies, dolls.
Maybe she would love to dance
to rock n roll as most girls do
at this age.
When she thinks that no one
is watching, my wife
sometimes slips out her locket,
opens its clasp
and gazes longingly at it.
The way my grandfather
used to pull from his pocket
a cherished watch, tethered
to a chain.
But it's as if my wife sees
in her cherished possession
another type of watch,
which tries to measure
the incalculable, time
lost.
V3:
The Locket
The gold is wearing now;
she's worn it so long around her neck,
she touches it without realizing it.
It carries an ultrasound image
of our daughter, our first child.
The grainy black and white image
looks like the moon’s surface,
our daughter somewhere on it.
Even now when I gaze up
at the night sky I often recall
our one photo of her,
and what could have been. Today
would have been her 5th birthday.
Perhaps she would have loved
superheroes, zombies, dolls.
Maybe she would love to dance
to rock n roll as most girls do
at this age.
When she thinks that no one
is watching, my wife
sometimes slips out her locket,
opens its clasp
and gazes longingly at it.
The way my grandfather
used to pull from his pocket
a cherished watch, tethered
to a chain—to check the time
of day, or maybe the time lost,
which is maybe what my wife seeks,
the locket a type of watch
which tries to measure
the incalculable, time
lost.
V2:
The Locket
My wife wears a locket round her neck.
It carries an ultrasound image
of our daughter, our first child.
The grainy black and white image
looks like the moon’s surface,
our daughter somewhere on it.
Even now when I gaze up
at the night sky I often recall
our one photo of her,
and what could have been. Today
would have been her 5th birthday.
Perhaps she would have loved
superheroes, zombies, dolls.
Maybe she would love to dance
to rock n roll as most girls do
at this age.
When she thinks that no one
is watching, my wife
sometimes slips out her locket,
opens its clasp
and gazes longingly at it.
The way my grandfather
used to pull from his pocket
a cherished watch, tethered
to a chain—to check the time
of the day, or maybe the time lost,
which is maybe what my wife seeks,
the locket a type of watch
which tries to measure
the incalculable, time
lost.
V1:
The Locket
My wife wears a locket round her neck.
It carries an ultrasound image
of our daughter, our first child.
The grainy black and white image
looks like the moon’s surface,
our daughter somewhere on it.
Even now when I gaze up
at the night sky I often recall
our one photo of her,
and what could have been. Today
would have been her 5th birthday.
Perhaps she would have loved
superheroes, zombies, dolls.
Maybe she would love to dance
to rock n roll as most girls do
at this age. When she thinks
that no one’s watching, my wife
sometimes slips out her locket,
opens its clasp
and gazes longingly at it.
The way my grandfather
used to pull from his pocket
a cherished watch, tethered
to a chain—to check the time
of the day, or maybe the time lost,
which is maybe what my wife seeks,
the locket a type of watch
which tries to measure
the incalculable, time
lost.