Roots

They came yesterday, early as dawn itself They came with shovels and trowels To give protection from the winter To the rose bushes that you loved Shortly after lunch I heard Oliver barking It was his angry bark, his sound of offense For the worker was digging and exhumed Your scarf from the tangled roots of roses I gave the scarf to Connie, I remember She was little then, five or so And she visited to ask for something of yours To keep and remember When she went home and her mother asked What she had done at our house She said, “I just sat on his lap And helped him cry.” It comes to me now, later she asked About the scarf again and I assumed she lost it But now there was the evidence Oliver also had a need to remember And put his souvenir of you Beneath the bushes you so loved And the workman held the scarf to me And I told him, “Put it back.” He comes to me at night It is his ritual of companionship Sad-eyed and with mournful whimpering He comes to my arms and licks my hand And we are together before the fireplace Watching shadows dance across the walls Each remembering the moments that were ours Each guarding a part of you in the roots of us