In a pinch
I always retreat
to my Grandmother's kitchen

that's not only a room
but also a 3 D polaroid
of 1971

turning to sepia before
my very eyes and
right now

I'm spinning on one of the mustard
yellow
nogahyde chairs

so fast I'm getting dizzy
but then I remember something
I learned that year in school

about ballerinas

to keep their balance
and grace they
focus on one thing

so I fix my gaze
on the ornate cuckoo clock
hanging on the far wall at eye-level

with its dark brown flourishes
carved curly cues horn-blowing hunters
and the piece de resistance

the hart's head with
fanning antlers
it wears for a crown

I wish I could remember more
and I always tell myself
details make the case

but they too
have been washed out
by time

Whit Howland © 2020