Lake Springfield

Summer transported a kid never learned
to swim.  There she was with the guts
and craziness to light out for the bobbing
buoy separating chickens from diehards.  
At fourteen, at fifteen, at sixteen, willing to risk
drowning or having to be hauled in, coughing
and sputtering.  No way does she look back
with regret.  Happens, happens.  Now
she swims her breath away, doesn’t stop.
Lake Springfield lifetimes ago,  yet the girl
is still seeing the sun play with the water.  
Not blue, not gray, but like her, suspended.
Float.  Float a moment.  Make a raft
of your disappointed body and stiff limbs.
Dare to open your eyes.  Look straight up.
Do not blink.  Blind a state of mind.  Sand
so hot.  Why think about turning back?
Butterfly ahead, then roll onto your back
and belt out that summer’s song.
 
What she sees beyond the buoy:   her
flying from the lake in a banana convertible
driven by the worst boy she could think
to crave.  All he taught.  How his eyes
crinkled.  Husk of his song.  Way her
face stung.  Whole body tingled.  Sand grit
up inside. Clambering over to crow up top.
Give herself over.  Let wind whip her hair.
Every bare and clothed inch burn.   Blur
of brown poles, blur of green corn and gold
tassels.  The yearn for what could never
be.  More, Lake Springfield.  More!!

      
                (c) Phyllis Jean Green, 2007
                       All Rights Reserved*

*Please write for permission before copying, posting, printing, &-or forwarding this
particular piece.  T h a n k  y o u.  I really, really appreciate your willingness to read and comment on the pieces I post.  Keeps wind 'neath my wings and a song in my heart.  Loving thoughts and peace in our time. . .for all time!  Pea