Root Cellar – 2012 posting

(Mayberrie poem – revised)

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She’d waited long enough.

The time had come

to clear the near forgotten room

he’d carved into the earth.

Ancient harvests deep inside

would long be in decay.

She braced herself

and slow approached

the thick, elm door

(and later swore it opened of

its own accord).

 .

In the shaft of light

that followed her

she was struck with wonder.

Instead of baskets

filled with crops

long gone to rot

there was the scent of quickening:

potatoes

with their eyes still wide,

beets the color of her heart,

carrots orange and smooth,

and onions with their papery skins

like pages of old memories.

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On the side were apples –

barrels of them, red and crisp

(she took a bite and begged forgive!)

.

How could this be,

a place outside of time?

In haste she left

and sealed the door.

There would be no clearing out

(except for one sweet apple

which she secreted away).

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© 2009, 2016  Betty Hayes Albright

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