Time Capsule

Poem by Wilmer Mills

A wax recording of the sing-along

A hundred years ago. Thanksgiving Day.

Between the talk, the static, and the song,

We hear the silverware and someone say

That snow had just begun to fall. And then

The whistle-hiccup of a cuckoo clock

Above the spinet tells us when and when,

That time is soft of hearing; like a rock,

It listens in the ground, remembering

With fossils that cannot forget the fish.

We hear the singing, thankful it can bring

The living voices of the dead to wish

Us well when our Novembers fail to please

With snow that falls on ground that doesn’t freeze.


American Arts Quarterly, Fall 2011, Volume 28, Number 4