Sonnet for Carryhouse and Keeper

I met a man who'd kept a snail as pet
beneath a cold stone house which had no wife;
too dank it was for even cats to thrive.
Inside an old fish tank his snail friend slept.

The man's round back was proof he'd not forget
to spend good time in keeping things alive
between his care-filled self and his shelled bride.
All day he'd curve around her as she crept

among the leafy shadows of his hands;
he'd trace her pearl-string trails with his fingers,
his breath would set small clouds into her glass.

The day he set her free she took one-half
a day to slip into good-bye; she lingered
in the lovegrass, like the lovelorn, said this man.

Copyright 2000 C. J. Sage All rights reserved.
from Let's Not Sleep (Dream Horse Press, 2002)
first appeared in The Spoon River Poetry Review home