Dreams in a Mirror

George William Wheeler 1999, originally uploaded by _william.

There is a grave in Tennessee
which I did not dig.
I merely filled it in.
That morning I called
about the casket.
A man was making that.
“Well, I’ve already cut the boards he said.”
I had my carpenters tape stretched
The yellow ribbon shivering over the child
The numbers mattered to me.
So he cut the wood to length
Brought the six pieces to the cabin.
The boards were weathered
Grey from exposure, splintered
where the saw had separated
the pieces from a single plank.
We washed the body
Wondering over perfect fingers,
How the blood had pooled on his side.
His face looked worried.
He had golden red hair.
We dressed the body in red flannel
clothing that My Wife made.
Too large and he would not grow into it.


The rain fell hard that day.
Around noon we drove out to the little graveyard.
There were no ministers, only witnesses,
People I could not recognize with their rain gear.
They huddled around my wife consoling her
While I went to the grave with another man.
The hole had already started to fill with water,
The casket floated like a tiny ship.
Then I picked up a shovel and never spoke
until the grave was filled with red earth.

My father never visited the grave.
He died in Oregon on this day in 2002.
Strange, I hadn’t thought about that until now.
I hope that he found Peace.

March 9, 2006