Winter Sleep

My grandfather Worked hard all his life And died When I was Away. I remember him Sitting in the dark By the kitchen stove On cold winter nights Rubbing his calloused hands Over and over again Not saying a word To anyone Listening to the voices on the outside Whistling in the winter wind. Once I walked In by mistake Breaking the silence I asked what he was thinking about Nothing he said The his voice changed Listen to me son Everyone has a lesson To learn in life You’re young now But later on You’ll need to know When to grab life In your own two hands And shake it Until you get What you want. The sudden anger In his voice Startled me like a Short fuse in the night And I ran from him. Grandfather didn’t work during winter It was too cold he said The need To work more To buy more Never suited him. What he needed was nearby A pair of old work boots A jacket carelessly slung Over a chair A pair of cotton twill pants from better days And a bottle of brandy. For him, winter was Meeting old friends After Sunday Church Congregating in the park In small groups Standing their ground Against all outsiders On days when the snows receded And winter’s end seemed close. Some rested on canes Others stood tall Survivors of another winter Arguing politics Talking about this and that And how well their grown up children were doing. Life can go on without us They seemed to say To the empty park And the gray skies We will meet again one day But for now We’ll stay here until the sun goes down And winter returns.