Heart-Winter
by P.H. Wise

Near the autumn equinox
I walked the cemetery road
to visit grandpa’s grave
The summer heat was fading into fall
But had not yet passed the gate of seasons.
I stood before the grave-sight with a flag upon it
And tried to recall the man
As if my wanting it should raise him from his earthy bed
But memory is like a fog-bank,
Turning the sunlit world into a world of haze,
of smoke, of half-truths scarcely to be recalled.
I can no longer recall what it was like to be held as a child
Or playing baseball with him in the backyard
Or the smell of the family barbeque, him supervising proudly –
But I know these things happened.
I stood before the grave-sight with a flag upon it
And the cold wind passed through the grass and chilled my ears
On its way over the still brown hills
The second death - how terrible! - the second death.
Summer has passed into fall, and the promise of renewal is lost
for a winter carried in the heart.