Tina's Clock

Time goes, you say? Ah no! Alas, time stays, we go.

–Henry Austin Dobson, The Paradox of Time 

Tina's Clock
An antique clock lies within the heart of time; its hands move briskly as hours fly by, as we become more of ourselves, and as we gently let go of the past that’s behind us. My grandparents were always fond of sophisticated clockwork. They have clocks all over their dwelling; there is a distinctive clock in their house I am particularly fond of: their dinning room clock. That clock is particularly special, not only does it keep track of time like ordinary clocks do, it chimes so beautifully. The clock chimes every fifteen minutes; when the clock strikes the hour, it sings the representative melody. Its pendulum moves gently, side to side, echoing onto others room with its sharp work and its low roll. I remember asking my grandmother, Tina, about its origins. She laughed about it, reminiscing on her journey to Switzerland with Santiago, her husband. She bought on her way over and has kept it ever since my father graduated from college. I have never actually realized its presence. Time works in mysterious ways. When I was young, I used to ignore the clock, except for its happy chimes at dinner where we would all sit around the table, chatting and laughing merrily. As a kid, I would stare at it blankly and think about its importance, but it never came to mind until now. I am much older now, and that clock is still ticking its way into bliss. The Swiss clock, or better said Bucherer would look upon us all. He would stick around for quite some time, admiring blossoming life, the rapture of death, journeys of ascents and descents as we all have come across in life. The clock has a sentimental value, let alone a prized possession of a loved one, it is a mere reminder of the life that’s ahead of us all. It is indeed, a bittersweet paradox. If I must add life’s most bittersweet paradox, to cope with so little time and so much to handle, so much to do; discover, wonder, and yearn! We must learn to deal with such paradoxes. Clocks are not timekeepers but the indicators of memory, the way we’re able to dwell upon past experiences and how we long for them to happen soon. The time has come, for us to reminisce, to dwell upon the drips and drabs of love and look back on the blossom of life. And whether or not we know it, we always find ourselves looking upon time and looking for time itself.



Author's Notes/Comments: 

Prose poem. 

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9inety's picture

I have to agree

with my friend "whomnever", this prose is prolific in its perception, and you took the little quote from Dobson, and seemingly, wove your words through the images of conversing with "Tina", truly, you took your” time". and whomnever is also correct, you should pursue writing if only for the joy of the audience eager and willing to read your offerings.




"One of the best results of life, is the torment of love"

Dylan Eliot