When we were asked to write using all of our senses a poem that I wrote in Advanced Poetry two semesters ago came to mind. I have a difficult time being as descriptive in my fiction as I do in my poetry. For some reason it is easier for me descriptive when I know I don't have dialogue to rely on.
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Winter Burial
(For Grandma Ruth)
It is the kind of cold that
makes your teeth chatter and your bones ache.
Ground glistening with fresh snow.
The sun remains hidden behind
ominous clouds threatening to dump
a fresh load of white powder.
The plot before us ripped open by large mechanical teeth,
only after heaters thaw the frozen Chicago ground.
The hole, a brown so dark it looks almost black
against the stark white landscape.
Six feet deep.
Mourners huddle together against the biting wind,
not wanting to mix physical pain with emotional.
The casket sits off to the side of the plot,
not ready to be placed in the abyss.
Men dressed in warm down coats, with gloved hands turn a crank.
The casket begins its journey,
back to the earth from where it came.
The rabbi begins the Kaddish
the prayer for the dead.
And the words start to flow from our lips.
(For Grandma Ruth)
It is the kind of cold that
makes your teeth chatter and your bones ache.
Ground glistening with fresh snow.
The sun remains hidden behind
ominous clouds threatening to dump
a fresh load of white powder.
The plot before us ripped open by large mechanical teeth,
only after heaters thaw the frozen Chicago ground.
The hole, a brown so dark it looks almost black
against the stark white landscape.
Six feet deep.
Mourners huddle together against the biting wind,
not wanting to mix physical pain with emotional.
The casket sits off to the side of the plot,
not ready to be placed in the abyss.
Men dressed in warm down coats, with gloved hands turn a crank.
The casket begins its journey,
back to the earth from where it came.
The rabbi begins the Kaddish
the prayer for the dead.
And the words start to flow from our lips.
This was a beautiful post Samara! Thank you! I especially loved the first line, "The kind of cold that makes your teeth chatter and your bones ache." I could feel the cold.
ReplyDeleteI could feel the cold, too. And I can imagine how much harder it would have been to give your grandmother over to such cold earth.
ReplyDelete"large mechanical teeth"
ReplyDeleteI love that you gave such a visceral description to what could have simply been a noun.
brrr... I got a shiver on that one. Your descriptions painted such a vivid picture. I'm sorry for you loss. You did produce some beauty from these ashes for certain. Your writing is engaging. That seems like an odd word to use to describe this poem, I know, but it really did engage me as a reader. I felt this poem.
ReplyDeleteI love the "large mechanical teeth" line as well. I also love your description of the dirt and the contrast of the darkness with the white snow.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful and sad poem, Samara. I like how you were able to be succint and yet still give a stark and vivid impression of the scene.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful. The image of gloved hands turning a crank remains with me.
ReplyDelete