She's Leaving Home

I floated on the lake’s green waves today
as if to make some thin or grand escape
from him, the children, the needs that weigh
upon me. Below, smooth shadows soon took shape

and swimming in hot summer tears I saw
dark strangers: rocks and wood I’d never seen before,
the sketches winter’s pen strokes like to draw.
And I looked back to ask the ragged shore:

How could you rearrange yourself without me here?
As if the sands had been unfaithful when
I made winter quarters in the dimming of the year,
packing up for town with him, the children.

One autumn I promised I’d always be true.
This is my love letter to you.


Poet's note: A poem about being tied to a place in a deep and lasting way, and then, having to leave it. A poem that wonders about how place and self commingle, and to what extent are they one and the same; and again, a poem that looks at the boundaries of self versus family through the lens of place.  Photo is of Torch Lake in northern Michigan; personal collection.