by Carla Stanley
In your jewelry box I found 12 old watches, Watches that marked the years of your life. Each similar- Twisty metal band, small face, no numbers. Marking your time as a mother and wife. Always early for an event, Always ready for what would happen next. Events blending together, year after year. Each watch showing the passage of the seasons Rough edges smoothed. You adapted as we grew To a world that changed around you, Until children grown, husband gone You found yourself. At 89 you had new friends, New hobbies, new interests, in a new home. Even as your sight failed and Your arthritis hindered your movements, You adapted and enjoyed your new life. Large print books, brighter lights, a walker, A watch with a big face, big numbers, and a strap to buckle on every day. On that watch you marked the hours of your 97th year As your body wore down and gave up. You held on to every minute as I held on to your hand To help you through those last days as you helped me through my first days. Your watches sit in a jar Tangled with my watches. They are woven together, the memories of watches and time spent with you.
Carla Stanley is a retired Theater & English teacher. She is a Bakersfield native and spent 20 years as a military wife living in Oklahoma, Washington and Germany. She spends her time traveling with her husband (pre-COVID), writing, gardening, and walking her dog Sky.