The Clock Tower of Youth Chimes

A poem about loss and heartbreak

Photo by Kevin Andre on Unsplash

There’s an old clock tower
in Whitefish, that watches
winter with a dire need,
all those frozen tundra smiles
knowing the beauty of a moment
lies in cozy boutiques.

And we giggle,
arm in arm;
walking in the coming of fall
those burned orange leaves
and hospice yellow trees
coughing and smiling,
feeling they will come again
as the clock tower
chimes midday,
over a sleepy town
of nearby December.

Our footsteps gallop
among the frozen asphalt
faded prairie of mother’s
songs in the cradle,
as I’m rocked to sleep amongst
the beating rugs of
early Sunday morning lungs,
taking their first breath
of chill air
as dust swirls onlooking
swan lake with feverish yearnings.