Timepiece by A.J. Odasso You put your watch— worn, Timex, cheap— in my hand. I was nine. You said, “Listen, those oil drums behind the garage are about to blow.” The coil of my digits unwound. I was nine. You said, “Lit trash fell out- side the burn barrel. The oil will catch. Get your brother and your sisters in the car.” I was nine. And you said, “I'm going back. I'll try to put it out. Get the kids in the car and drive if I don't come back.” But Dad, you did. Every word, each tick. We lived.