the brown
wooden clock
in my great grandmother's
row house
in south philly.
i can see the the bird
coming out on a small
plank.
the loud bell clucking
off the hours
each day.
i can see her frail body,
holding
the stick to move
the stone pine cones
hanging on chains,
getting them to sway.
as a child and even now
there is still such wonder
in so many small
yet magical things.
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