Snow Melt

Snow Melt

The snow melts, revealing secrets

An empty bottle, thrown

April is the cruelest month

The old man died alone.

He waited through the winter

His wife had left him there.

But he could not bear the spring

Watching her garden, bare.

The ground was thawing daily

It would soon be time to plant

He stared out of the window

His memory fading, scant.

The harvest would be slim this year

He dug the hole quite deep

He climbed inside, close to her

And laid his head down, to sleep.

The snow melt dripped down jagged sides

His face got wet and grave.

He climbed back out and got a tarp

From  his boat “Be Not Afraid”

She would not sail, he could not row.

They agreed to separate paths.

Him to sail and her to grow.

That year would be their last.

Each day he left, sail bag in hand.

He waved as he crossed the field

To step his mast and ply the waves

Neither wished to yield.

The corn grew well, the wind died down

She weeded, sowed, and reaped

He put his canvas sails away

And met her in the keep.

They knelt beside the brussel sprouts

He pulled the wrong thing twice.

She kissed him on the top of his head

And said “water would be nice”

He rose, brushed off his soiled knees

It was harder now, to stand.

Returning to her side, he sat,

A glass of water in his hand.

She laughed, that wondrous smile beamed

He laughed too at the joke.

They sat together on the ground

The air cool, smelling of wood smoke.

The snows then came, the jars were opened,

Butter beans, peas  and corn.

The boat was covered with the tarp

The wood stacked in the barn.

She slept, like death, arose no more

They found them both in bed.

A gentle smile on her face

He slept on, like the dead.

There was no funeral, children gone.

Her ashes were in a Ball jar.

He sprinkled them on her flower bed

By the back door, not too far.

But here he was, close to her

Like she always wanted him to be.

He wondered if she felt him there

As the wind rose on the sea.

He stood up in the grave

To take one last look around.

And saw a gull perched on the boat

And a crow walking on the ground.

“Be gone!”, he cried, to scare them off

“I am trying to rest in my grave!”

The last words he saw were on the stern:

And read “Be Not Afraid”.

FTC – 3/30/14

Lincolnville Beach, Maine