Nobody Claims It

We found a watch at the bottom of the drawer,

a man's watch, stopped, the crystal cracked in two.

Nobody in the room had seen it before —

or nobody said so. Which may not be true.

The hands were fixed at somewhere near five.

Four forty-seven. The crease of afternoon

or the thin end of night, the hour you survive

by not checking clocks. We didn't know which one.

My mother held it under the kitchen light

and turned it over, looking for a name.

There wasn't one. She set it down. Alright,

we said — not agreement. Just the same

reflex as patience. The drawer went back.

I slipped the watch in my pocket. Didn't ask.