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
Copyright © David Ellsworth | Year Posted 2012
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