Jo Pestel
Clock
the clock While you are in hospital I wind
you had. on Saturday mornings exactly as
treatment To change a detail means the
weights rise mightn't work. I watch the
the key, straight and true as I heave on
chain two cylinders each attached to its
a mechanism - by a single hook - surely too frail
the pendulum yet never failing to complement
out our quarter hours and move us on a ratchet, bong؛
restored first thing the sturdy background sound
holiday, part whenever we get back from
loved the clock of the ritual of return. You
until yesterday for years before we met. Not
casing, did I even see the detail of its
gold, the understated swirl of oriental
dragon, red lacquer with bits missing, a
pagoda, a swooping crane؛secret stories
the quietness, there for the unravelling had I
the eyes and ears. I hunger now
fingers to tell you how I care for it, my
eternity lingering, each quarter hour
while you grow pale silver
in that hospital bed.
ترجمه: هادی محمدزاده
- كامبیز تشیعی
منبع : سوره مهر
