Every day he wore that wristwatch, like the act of putting it on was part of the clockwork.
Through the 4th hole on the band, not too tight nor too loose.
Taking it off and putting it on his nightstand at the end of the day,
As if this watch were the most timeless possession to be owned.
“One day you can have one just like it,”
He says to his grandson sitting in his lap.
“Can I be the big hand now?”
He looks down at his grandson watching the hands move across the face of the watch.
“When you become bigger than me, then you can be the big hand.”
Seventeen years later and there was no more routine.
The watch had not been worn by anyone since the wearer had passed one night.
No one to put it on the fourth hole, no one to put it away at night.
“Today we are here to read his last will and testament.
To his grandson, he leaves his wristwatch, a family heirloom.”
Handed the watch, he put it on the fourth hole on the wrist band.
Not quite a fit.
He goes to the third hole.
Time starts again, on another man’s wrist.
The watch sees another wedding, the purchase of a new house, and the birth of another child.
Just as the little hands on the watch moves, so does the life of the wearer.
The watch grows older, the big hand gets delayed, and slower.
The big hand is as sharp as ever,
Eagerly waiting to hit the next hour of the day.
Until another will is read, and another son takes the watch.
Cherishes it with his life, wondering how time can carry on so easily, as if it hasn’t already taken many loved ones.
Time is inevitable, time is devastating, time is beautiful, time is timeless.