Jun 15
Death comes in the winter
When all is grey & white & cold
Whether stealthily or raucously
Gnawing or pouncing
Prowling for entrails
Frigid
Final
Leaving empty beds and empty arms
Reminders of the empty holes
In the long-empty hearts
It’s icy fingers creep along the soul
Waking long-dead musings
…they buried them in the spring…
Yet for him
No grave will be dug
For some winters never End.
When all is grey & white & cold
Whether stealthily or raucously
Gnawing or pouncing
Prowling for entrails
Frigid
Final
Leaving empty beds and empty arms
Reminders of the empty holes
In the long-empty hearts
It’s icy fingers creep along the soul
Waking long-dead musings
…they buried them in the spring…
Yet for him
No grave will be dug
For some winters never End.
Originally published 6th Dec 2021 | Edited 20th Feb 2025
It was in the winter that I realized we had started the death watch as my father was being consumed from the inside out by cancer. The first line was borrowed from a friend & poet with permission. “They buried them in the spring” is a reference to something I had read during my college days regarding one of the great plagues in history (I forget which one) where the deceased could not be buried until the ground had thawed sufficiently to dig their graves. My father was cremated so “no grave”.
It was in the winter that I realized we had started the death watch as my father was being consumed from the inside out by cancer. The first line was borrowed from a friend & poet with permission. “They buried them in the spring” is a reference to something I had read during my college days regarding one of the great plagues in history (I forget which one) where the deceased could not be buried until the ground had thawed sufficiently to dig their graves. My father was cremated so “no grave”.
