Memoirs of a Young Girl

Miss Havisham

never wound her heart

again  

and  it didn’t stop.

It didn’t stop the black bruises

on her frail arms

to complement the white

in her gown

nor the matching gray in her hair brows.

I remember visiting her

- for a while -

every now and then.

Once, we even contemplated  

turning  back the time.

First, I'd move the minute hand of the clock

backwards

Then I'd wait for her to do the same

with  the hour hand.

She looked pleasantly surprised,

hopeful and proud,

but soon  thereafter

the second hand of her golden watch

caught up with the day light

and there were tears in her eyes.

Once, we really tried to hold
the pendulum three hands

still, at the same time,

But it was stronger than both

and we had to give up.

I still wonder if, by any chance, 

time had actually stopped

for the two of us

not to stare but to reward

such a bold enterprise.                                    For the better version check this: