Keeping an Eye on The Clock

Once a week I read the 
obits in the Portland
Oregonian. I feel
kinship and connection

to the city and people.
I started reading obits
when I was younger. those 
dying born in the teens 
twenties later thirties 

and forties, I caught up.
Now people from 
fifties and sixties. I 
recognize names or think 
I do wondering if I dated
 
her or drank with him.
Did we go to the same high school? 
or university? Were they Jewish? 
was the family name one I 
remember? Recently there have
 
been a few dead children.
I knew their parents. Some names 
standout there is no doubt
I know where and when. 
Others more elusive or magical 

a sounds-like-moment, a trick of mind.
This timeline serves me
like a clock measuring time
by passing generations changing, 
people leaving, me waiting

proving my frailty my humanity.

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