Thursday, November 11, 2010

That Evening

That Evening by Ken Hada

that evening

   after the service
   after the casket

was lowered into red dirt
dirt which he had plowed
and planted

   I sat with her
   in the house

a house that would never be
the same, the house of grandkids
and trophies from prize quilts
and blue-ribbon jams from
county fairs

   and she spoke some
   and I spoke some

I was not yet eighteen
He was sixty five

   so my thoughts
   too few memories

the shotgun he bought for me
at auction, catching a big bass
on his cane pole, sitting on his lap
at sunrise, hearing growls about
harvest and calves, hay, tractors
and fences

   now it would all change
   we both knew that

as we sat holding our differing
grief, it would all change

   some for the better
   but not all

sundown and death – too obvious
to construct – that first night
was hard, but she was hard too

   and she teaches me
   to live on

for thirty more years (and counting)
that evening still alive in me –
a lesson in grief

   believe it, bear it
   bury it

"That Evening" by Ken Hada, from Spare Parts. © Mongrel Empire Press, 2010. Reprinted with permission.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Thanks for posting my poem.
Ken Hada