In Caledonia County
by jacob erin-cilberto

there is a pond
when you look down into it
you can see to the bottom of men’s souls

there is clarity where the loons sweep the surface
and small mouth bass like happy children
sound and then spring into the air

a hopscotch of crawfish
fiddle with the pads
of plant life
dotting the left of the beach
where hearts take a break
from the long hard winters of war

swimmers chatter
as perch nibble at their feet
an embrace of affection
that has lost its place
in a shattered America

we backstroke against the current
of ugly intentions
in deep waters
that call to us
with the greenest
clarity of purpose

let love find that sandy bottom
let peace linger in the shallows
let voices echo
where only the old decrepit barn by the lake
can hear
let it tickle our folly
and strip us naked of our woes

there is magic
in this ancient swimming hole
that creates a myth
of dreams
which become a perfect tempest
of reality
as the glassy water meets the end of the day.



 

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