I Set the Stove Clock to Your Time (Long-Distance)

Lyrics

The clock on the wall says it's ten past two.
The one on the stove says it's seven for you.
Green numbers. General Electric.
A second, silent pulse in the house.

I set it the day you left.
September eighteenth.
Had to find the manual in the junk drawer.
Press and hold 'Clock'. Then the little arrow up.
Now I know when you're sleeping.
Now I know when your alarm goes off.
I make my coffee when I imagine you're making yours.
I picture the steam on your window, facing east.

And the clock on the stove keeps your time.
It's not a wound, it's a wire.
It's a quiet little lie I tell myself,
that you're just in the other room.
That this kitchen lives in two places.
Philadelphia and here.
My dearest friend.

Abigail Adams had a quill and ink.
She'd wait for weeks, for a ship across the Atlantic.
Her 'Remember the Ladies' on a piece of parchment,
smelling of wax and woodsmoke.
My letter is a blue bubble on a screen.
It says 'Delivered' in an instant.
The technology changes. The ache does not.
The waiting is just... compressed.

And the clock on the stove keeps your time.
It's not a wound, it's a wire.
It's a quiet little lie I tell myself,
that you're just in the other room.
That this kitchen lives in two places.
Philadelphia and here.
My dearest friend.

Sometimes I think if I had known
the true length of it,
I wouldn't have had the fortitude.
I press my palm to the screen of my phone.
It's cold. It doesn't smell like you.
This little green light can't tell me
the sound of the rain on your roof.
It just hums.

The clock on the wall says it's almost three.
The one on the stove says it's time for your morning tea.
The green numbers glow.
I'll be with you in spirit.
I hope to be with you in person soon.