Before the Glacier
by
Amethyst

eighty-five
and everyone is gone
his wife one year deceased
the kids remember grandpa
who gave them candy
when they were little
he lives on crumbs of love
scavenged from visits to old friends

he comes home one day
finds something has been dumped
in his yard
not meant as a kindness
but an epithet
(here's some trash we were
going to throw anyway, we're
sticking you with it)

at first he sees her as just that
a problem to pass on, get rid of
until he looks into her frightened
abandoned eyes exactly like his mirror
so they make a pact
a dare each to the other
to hope, to love once more

she shares
his bacon-and-egg breakfasts
steak dinners and stew
dog food is for dogs
she is his life, his reason
they go everywhere together

in evening when long foreshadowings
touch the wall, silhouette the fern
in its earthen pot
he holds her on his lap
wrapped tightly in his
dependence and his fear

if she should go
if she should go--

he could not re-exhume his soul
from glacial ice
could not, not again

she licks his cheek and brings him back
makes him laugh
at this moment in the glacier's path
they live only in each other's eyes
the world lies primordial at their feet

she jumps down and
beckons him to the door