Keepsake

I have already decided, when the time comes,
what to tell my siblings.
I want the little round clock on the fragile chain
royal blue, gold-rimmed, never worn.
Magical it seemed then, clock as necklace as clock.
It was such a thrill to peruse that jewelry box
Pandora's innerable twin.
My kin will be surprised
when I pass over the ivory-inlaid table,
the beautifully-wrought garments,
filigreed iron headboard.
Storms hailed us, beyond my childhood
as always, with mothers and daughters;
even today they rain.
You'd think I'd lay claim to things
large or fancy, for all that pain,
but no, just the curious clock
quiescently ticking
a half-century ago,
before the bluegrass turned to snow. 

Copyright Julianza Shavin 2008