One More Winter
Nov 15 2008


If I make it through one more winter
I will plant tomatoes,
kneeling in warm black soil.
In cool mornings
I will trim fresh basil,
sit, and watch.
And when the light turns to fall
I will harvest butternut squash
fat pumpkins
blushing apples,
too tart to bake into pies.

But for 6 months, I am under siege —
my eyesight failing,
ice
too treacherous for canes.
And the cold cuts deeper,
through thin skin
and bones made frail by age.
Even though snow is beautiful
looking out my window
unbroken, untouched,
glistening in long low sun;
and falling
in the soft pink glow
of streetlights.

When I was young
I was invincible,
careening down hillsides
skating on frozen lakes.
So when did the world become
such a threatening place,
and me, so ruled by fear?
Why old men, alone
dead-bolt every door;
and why phone calls after dark
set weak hearts racing?

The cold dim winter
gets harder every year.
But I will endure
at least until next summer,
when the earth has thawed
and the soil come to life.
When they can bury this tired old body,
out where tomatoes turn ripe.