Four fifty nine on a cool August day,

A bundle of pink in her mother's arms,

The first time she had been brought home

Her little fists flew about, and the clock struck five

 

Now she wears her auburn hair in pigtails,

Her eyes follow the lines of my face

As she skips her eyes meet my hands, one longer than the other

She giggles and runs to her mother,

Asking about grandfather in the corner

And the clock struck four

 

Her face has lost the roundness of youth,

Powder is dusted on her angular nose

Heels dangle from her tired fingers and her brown eyes glow red

Her breath mingled with dust as she took another sip

“How do you do today grandfather?”

And the clock struck three

 

Moving day has come and she is on her own

The last of the boxes are piled into the van

Running back to meet me, she whispers

“I’ll be back grandfather…”

And the clock struck two

 

Years passed and she never came back

and my hands can’t chase each other in time anymore

My body has grown still but

I continue to wait, my body resting as I watch for her

 

Heels click along the hallway floor,

“I’m back grandfather, I’m here”

Her hair has grown long and sliver

Small wrinkles freckle her face

Her smile was tired and aged,

no longer did her eyes trace my face with innocent curiosity

She had outgrown her old grandfather

 

And the clock struck one