Clocks have hands and faces like us. As the sweeping evil arm rotates on its course, the roar of the ferry closes in. The long list of undone chores keeps me huddled in the stairwell. The cracks I fear arrive on time. The marble mosaic in the mezzanine—restored with mixtures of crushed walnut shells— etched into the floor hypnotizes me. Languishing chimes call to the booths, ferries in route, the pier suffering alone under the jealous sun. There’s routine here in the clock’s tick and bell. There’s enough time to eat at the restaurant, to stop at the gift shop. Is there time? Time for the glittering carousel—rose gold seats, so many horses with dials for mouths and eyes, and bronze bells for bridles. Caught late, riding means circling the Dickensian drain and missing the boat. The bay of San Francisco crowded with gray overhanging clouds welcomes the new year. The clock strikes the hour.
About the Author:
Cat Dixon is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee. She is the author of Eva and Too Heavy to Carry (Stephen F. Austin University Press, 2016, 2014) and the chapbook, Table for Two (Poet’s Haven, 2019). Recent work published in Sledgehammer Lit, Downtown Archive, and Whale Road Review.
This piece is a part of Issue Two: CHRONOS. Read more like it here.