Skip to main content

Maine Headstone


ISSUE:  Spring 1977

Benjamin Spinney
1810—1869
Jane Spinney
His Wife
1795—1868

This is the house he lived in: back to back,
two rooms huddled to keep the comfort in,
Ravens flapped single on the wind. He took
a wife straight as a cedar, but not young.

The land gave little, but it gave enough:
apples, hoarded to keep the winter through;
partridge, rabbit, venison strong as grief;
blueberries that had learned the ocean’s blue.

And as her fingers stiffened, he split wood
and stacked it in the shed. As her back bent,
he hauled fresh water through the snow which stood
impassive, fed the fire while she slept.

He buried her by the salt marsh, where the tide
would rise and fall at her feet. That spring, he died.

0 Comments

CAPTCHA
This question is for testing whether or not you are a human visitor and to prevent automated spam submissions.

Recommended Reading