Wednesday, December 9, 2009
*Poem: "Fish House- Lake Mille Lacs"*
Fish House- Lake Mille Lacs
Purple rising into pink, into blue,
slateful of snow, one narrow path
plowed up to the fish house,
a fancy one you say, not the
plywood shanties you remember.
I know that blue from Catskill winters, twilight,
punctuated with acorns, twigs,
irreverent leaves freckling the surface.
That clean, blue sheet across the frozen water
must be crisp and neat the whole season
but for a hole, a few footprints,
a few lost souls whose fins freeze
quickly in the Minnesota air.
Many Lakes, you say it's called--Mille Lacs,
Ojibwa by way of French traders,
heat-seeking Canadians just steps
from the border, and with this solitute,
lines we draw between countries,
between each other, declarations
blow apart into so many blue stars,
nestled together in the sky above this shack.
The windows glow yellow, bright,
a bit of warmth in all this consistency,
hope for the fish that remain
that somewhere in this frozen landscape