Frozen Ground

by Willard Roger Carlisle

I remember the winter my mother left.
Dad and I walked bare frozen
ground on the Nebraska farm, no trees ,
just a few broken stalks of corn.
," your mom is gone,"he said
everything will be OK."

I was nine.
We were visiting my grandparents.
I kept asking about my mother,
listening to family whisperings,
receiving no answers.
Stunned by her disappearance.

Years later , I learned the unspeakable truth
from my Dad.
She had been in a mental hospital,
too crazy to be mentioned,
too ill to be seen.

I still live in that frozen moment .
Even now, I never ask my wife for help,
expecting no one
to listen.

Roger Carlisle

I am a retired physician who loves poetry. I write lyrical and narrative poetry, about relationships, marriage, consciousness of the Self.

Last updated February 15, 2017