Lisa Hodges

Nothing moves
in the still of the night;
no sound
but the rhythmic
repetitive
tick tick tick
of the old hammer clock
on the dresser,
keeping time with
the pulsing in my veins.

Drawn to the sound
I watch as the luminous strip
slowly, carefully, steadfastly
clicks its way
around the opalescent dial.

I doze, snap awake and doze again.
My old heart, always so regular
no longer beats time
with the clock;
it has formed
a rhythm all its own
erratic, painful, frightening.

Alarmed and confused
I strain to keep count
but all too soon realize
that for me
time has run out;
tick
tick
ti…