There were two, there were once three
oceans which adjoined the shores of Lake Ontario.
Our pasts:
they drank its fresh water and swam together,
they (they) they.
Lake Ontario,
two lived on its northern border.
Where the winters once bit off innocent ankles, where
we threw the sticks into suspension.
Men will love you: Lake Erie or Lake Superior,
Lake Michigan, Lake Someone.
They will love you and you will love them.
Men will love you, after we laughed.
After we walked on floating trees,
broke up super-still water.
[ Three oceans: you're a Physics professor,
and you find time to read novels. Your kids have deftly
learned to feed the cats. You once saw me on a
train and I was doing laundry and you thought I was
sexy. ]
Yours
was the first face that I saw.
Yours
was a freezing open window
Of course,
there will be Monday mornings and car trips in the backseat
and endless Novembers in the Zoo, where little Martin
tries not to bite at his fingers.
Lake Ontario,
she lived under your arms. And she lived around your twisting coasts.
She breathed the night air and pinkyswore; she loved you like I loved you.
She was crying into the endless nocturne, she sung down the windows and whistled.
She plays the game where you pretend to be a kid again when noone is watching,
And she (she), she didn't cry with the lowest rains. She stands under a radio tower and yells.
She kisses you the night she should have and nothing else has ever happened. Tag: creaitve

Lake Ontario

A Crash In The Distance
Waves crash against the sand in the distance as I look along the beach in the dim, blue light of nautical twilight. I can taste salt on my skin when I lick my dry lips where I had been biting them during the anxieties of the day. The sand feels like ice between my toes as the warmth of the sun dissipates. My dress brushes lightly against my thighs and to stop the tickling I sit down and sink into the dune. Somewhere a fire burns, adding light to a rapidly darkening scene, but I can’t see it. Knowing it is there however, brings a smile to my lips and I close my eyes to continue listening to the crash of the waves in the distance. When I open my eyes again I find your hand on my shoulder and realize the crash of the waves have climbed further up the beach, and they are not so far in the distance anymore
Prairie Seasons
Fresh buds bloom on the branches of a tree
green seeps into the brown of the prairies
reminding us the cold did not kill—free
from the frigid snow and angry flurries.
Summer shocks, with her temper flaring.
Searing the memory of Winter’s howl
Cooking us in a flat frying pan, burning
away Winter’s chilly embrace and growl
All day farmer’s tractors leave patchwork weaves
on land that can feel the harvest fervor
Orange, red, and yellow appear. Dead leaves
fall-shrouding the earth for Summer’s murder.
Winter charges in, along comes the snow,
The wind brushes the trees silent and slow.