Dark Water Rising

The gravestones were covered with ice, and my fatherheld me tight against him as we walked across the boardto the little island in the middle of Turley’s Marsh.Hunters deep inside the woods sent blackbirds risingout of the reeds, their shadows undulating over the snow.My father’s hand bit into mine, as if fearing the dayI would follow the birds, becoming part of their dark Von the horizon. I did not know who the men buried,nor did my father talk about the day we stepped carefullyacross the old board to the island and up the hill where the stonesleaned in the wild grass; but I still feel his grip as the board sagged,the dark water rising over our shoes as my father went on home,the crows gone over the timber, the marsh already quiet.