the small bird

your grandmother's cuckoo clock
from the black forest
never worked
unless she reached up
and spun the hands
to get the bird
to come out of his dark
wooden box
to make his sounds.
the long chains held
the cone weights
and there were sentries
at the door
of the bird.
in time she grew shorter,
no longer
able to reach up.
her hair became white,
her skin pale.
bent over,
but she could
point at the clock
smile,
and remember.