night intermission by William J. Gibson

www.bluetyger.ca

Issue 32 July 2006
contents Copyright © 2006 William J. Gibson

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Poems

Laying Sod

William Gibson

I never dreamed that laying sod would be a memory to keep.
You gave me that.

I stood and watched you marking the edge of flowerbeds,
ringing trees, the future blooming in your head.

Your eyes painting colours on the damp brown earth.
I lifted the rolled sod onto the wheel barrow

and brought them to you.
Lifted them out, put them where I thought

you would need them, judging by the lines of union two rows back.
You told me not to roll them out.

That was your job.
I watched you tugging the heavy green

matching the seams - tightening the pieces of your new, green, outdoor floor.
The hard rain held off, the light drizzle misting the ground, the sod, and us.

I watched you working on your hands and knees.
You were wearing a brown and green rain shell of mine, the sleeves rolled up inside.

The colour of it matching the uncovered soil and the sod.
Your hands were earth brown.

Years ago that sod went down. This year I planted grass seed and watered it
and you never came to mind.