Rosie
She is square
by no means small
and for me
always there
and not just
in after thought;
She was pale-
faced and fair
...She is aged
but like film
stars, without
as much decay;
and though we
have moved on
She has not...
Waiting rather
than stopped;
facing out all
that has gone-on
to waste except
the Time with
which we have
been graced...
She was in
our youth like
the Art Deco,
a movement
precise yet
unburdened
with details
as such...
we knew each
figure by heart
the contours
which tiptoe,
as marks on the wall
...even in the dark
though to be sure
we left the little light,
as it was charmingly
called by the door
to the bath
so no one
should fall
Her hands
were by far her
dearest parts
to behold and
when we'd pace
day or night
she would
gesture and cluck
in that tongue
of les objets
tres foreign...
while we, as
he, she or many
soliliquied.
When she came
to us as a sort
of Governess,
she was chic
with no make up
and though designed
for dressing up,
we dared not...
we liked her best
with the rouge
and black liner
washed off.
She could have
stood many a
color no doubt
but those were
the two that
we had in the box
...then we too
grew more
sophisticated
and sauve
with slates
blank and
far off...
I know
she is still there
struck in awe;
stopped merrily
in the long
of corridor,
all the way
at the end of
the hall... faceless
white and square
I've named her
only just so...
after all this time,
our timekeeper...
...Rosie...
Notre horloge.
01.16.23
Inanimate Objects Challenge @Melpomene