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Picnic
by Moushumi Chakrabarty
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
Not rated by the Author.
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Picnic
Daringly
Into the bite and burn
Of the cold Georgian bay
We dip our toes
Behind,
Amid hurrying winds and gauze mist
The spruce-stiff island stands
Timeless.
Our naked feet rest on rocks
Submerged
Like some thoughts
Ties of blood, old wounds, comfort of
Faded dressing gowns and cups of tea
Anger and love bloom as flowers do
We laugh in joy -
Mother, daughters and I
Two generations riding in tandem
The currents of this moment
Moushumi Chakrabarty
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