Poetry by Mark Clemens
for Charles Everett Clemens, 1922-1992
The ground
where my father lies
by now has settled some.
The clods
that tumbled moist
from a digger’s spade three decades past
by now have crumbled
as he crumbled some
between his fingers in the garden
so long ago.
The sod
that flourished green upon his grave
by now has withered at the fringe
and a few hard brown blades
bristle in the wind.
The flowers
though faded pale
and clasped dry against the coffin lid
are yet the flowers his loving flesh
laid white and fresh
within his final grasp.
And in a ruffling breeze beneath sun-shot clouds
where sparrows harry dumb black crows
birds feel free to light upon his plot
to hop and, pausing, bend eyes sidewise
for some grub from his piece of earth
one place like any other
down the mounded rows.
Good ground
the ground where my father lies.
lovely ground
by now.
Born in Missouri and raised in Iowa, Mark Clemens earned an M.F.A. from the University of Montana. Through the following years, he wrote part-time while working at newspapers, state agencies, and colleges. Now he writes full-time where he lives on the Quimper Peninsula by the Salish Sea in Washington State.
