Horology

Horology

My father was a watchmaker

But he didn’t really make watches

Instead he disassembled those 17 or 21 jeweled beauties

Dipping some parts in solvents, others in new grease

One customer’s treasure at a time



Dad’s loupe pulled over his weary, hazel eyes

To magnify the mainspring.  The bezel

The balance staff.  The stem and the crown

Slow, tedious work



Once he told me a story about

Women in Illinois developing tongue cancer

From licking the small brushes used to paint

Radium on the dial



I always wished he had never told me that because

I could never admire my own small wristwatch

With the twist-o-flex band and

Luminous face in the dark

Of my own room, late at night

Without feeling a sadness

A child shouldn’t know

This poem came out of a workshop on Philip Levine.  My dad was already on my mind as a few fellow poets and I ate dinner beforehand, and the restaurant décor was large clocks and steampunk themed furnishings. With The Radium Girls in the news, I felt compelled to share.