The Clock Holds Its Heartbeat

              for Grant

Mid-March. Between seasons.
Rain so fine it never reaches the ground.

There is a word for this: Virga.
How did I not know it before?

Trying to remember my virga dream,
I press my cheek to your chest.

Touch rushes in, re-drawing
our boundaries.

During the crisis of pneumonia
I felt such sharp tenderness for common objects.

My favorite blue stoneware mug.
Its chipped rim making it almost mortal.

The hiatus from time was a gift
when the grandfather clock stopped ticking.

The winter hazel is suddenly green.
Just noticing alters my own coloration.

Nights, you go to bed first.
Alone, I sink into the deep meanwhile of my life.

*

Laura Ann Reed is a Contributing Editor with The Montréal Review. She holds master’s degrees in clinical psychology as well as in the performing arts. Her poems have appeared in seven anthologies, including Poetry of Presence II, as well as in numerous journals. Her most recent work is forthcoming in ONE ART, Illuminations, The Ekphrastic Review, SWWIM, and Main Street Rag. Her new chapbook, Homage to Kafka, was published by The Poetry Box (July 2025). https://lauraannreed.net/