The Hall Clock

The house was finally quiet,

settled into itself after the storm.

Just the furnace sighing once,

and then that sound.

The old clock in the hall.

Usually, it's just there, a tall shadow,

part of the furniture, background noise.

But tonight, it wasn't.

Clack-tick. Distinct. Sharp.

Then again, clack-tick.

Measuring out something

I hadn't asked to measure.

Each second, a small tap

against the silence, against my skull.

Like a drip, a steady, irritating drip.

Reminding me of something.

Something I'd rather forget.