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.
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