Stopping by lakefront on my way home

I always think itโ€™s aspens here
but maybe itโ€™s cottonwoods
you can’t really tell
unless the seeds are falling
and we are way past that now.

Between the leaves flipping and knocking
in the wild rush off the lake
and the pounding of the archers
on their targets behind you
an odd space opens for the clatter

clatter of halyards to surface
and you are brought back
to those sleepless nights
halyards clanging all hours
over your damp bunk

you learn right away
it is not soothing after all,
except in your memories.
So you stand here now
soothed back to your wits.

I wonder should I apologize
for being fit to be tied
or perhaps no one really noticed,
me being overwrought in regret,
over-precious with shame, on end.

The girl unpacks her quivers,
eager and true, combs her hair
back, checks her bow, aims –
a miracle of compression –
and releases, again, again, again

9 responses to “Stopping by lakefront on my way home”

      • Just not sure what I am doing with my writing, feeling lost and especially uncertain. But I think that is just how it always will be … Maybe I need to take a class or something. Thanks for your kind thoughts.

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      • Hm, I don’t have an answer for that, except that I think your writing is wonderful. One of my goals for the year is an actual physical chapbook. It might just feel really good to have that concrete thing. I don’t know if that’s something you would enjoy. Oh, and we should for real meet in person!

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      • We should! That would be great.

        I am putting a chap book together and have been working on it for sometime. But I am filled with hesitation. Grrrrr!

        Thanks for the encouragement! One step in front of the other.

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      • OK, let us make a mutual-encouragement-chapbook-putting-together-society. ๐Ÿ™‚ And put on our thinking caps about meeting. I am pretty flexible.

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