Red Flag Flying on the Beach

a black  sun burns under its fiery corona
a red flag flies. 

High waves on Lake Michigan.
Darkness--boiling clouds

Darkness at the bottom of the lake

where corpses sway to and fro

embraced by cold water

curious fishes nibble.

Only the bones of the drowned will wash away

in circulating currents miles from shore

far from warmth they once knew.

Shipwrecked these are the ones

who struggled and were gone as well as

those who tried to save them and drowned.

Sailors overboard tangled in lines, teens washed off of piers,

lost planes with their passengers, suicides,

divers who broke their necks.

Ice fishermen whose cars plunged through the shifting ice

still drive underwater with hands clenched to the wheel.

Their mothers, fathers sisters brothers,

husbands, wives and friends gaze out from the shore.

They no longer see beauty.

They think they see something out there,

 but it’s nothing—only a bird.

They stand watch as hours

 turn into days and days into weeks.

Finally, when hope is gone

they return home empty

and stare at the

dark soil where an ancient river once ran

through our town.