.
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
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.
.
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).
.
© 2009, 2016 Betty Hayes Albright
.
(revision of an old Mayberrie poem)
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Seasonings 