The Parable of my Clocks by Kathleen McGookey

My kitchen clock stopped where I like it, 11:37, morning just blooming into afternoon. My desk clock froze at 10:10—plenty of time to work before lunch. Between kitchen and desk an hour opens: bees disappear into my hydrangeas, a thrush calls from the field, and my creek and the traffic beyond it warble and hiss, braid themselves into a white rush that settles around me. I have clocks of wasps and swans, of hammers and sand, of bridges over mist and the boat-shaped leaves that drift below. My doctor’s appointments never arrive on my clocks of teeth and dice, of napping cats, of thick erasers and combs. The children are always snug at school, learning their times tables and trading pennies for nickels.
 
If I go out, my brother comes and winds my clocks.

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Kathleen McGookey’s most recent book is Stay (Press 53).  Her book Heart in a Jar is forthcoming from White Pine Press in Spring 2017.  Her work has appeared in journals including Crazyhorse, Denver Quarterly, Epoch, Field, Ploughshares, Prairie Schooner, and Quarterly West.  She has received grants from the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Sustainable Arts Foundation.

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