Flora Mae Gudez Poet Narrative

The Clock

I watched the clock struck twelve.
It turned over and over
Until it reached twelve again.
Suddenly, a moth flew at my sight.
I stared at the blank space,
My past turns like the clock.

On twenty eleven, I was on Jim’s clock,
Last year, on John’s,
This year, on Joy’s.
Different clocks with same moves,
On different time, On same path.
Is there a clock who turns counterclockwise?

None!

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Casarah Nance December 27, 2014 at 8:20 AM That is a different and unique way to think about things. It seems if you want to change the path, build your own clock. Write on!