On the Lake
(with appreciation to Margaret Atwood’s Surfacing)
They stare at ripped clothes and share a glance
She holds him lightly but looks away
The shore slowly passes as they advance
Tangled trees and branches block the day.
They think she’s mad, a beast gone awry
Insane enough to smash her home
But winter comes and they can’t let her die
When the lake will freeze and ice will foam.
Her weird father drowned, of that they’re sure,
Gone much too deep to see sacred art
His body guards the hallowed wall, pure
As dead herons plunged into her heart.
The blue jays spy their boat from above
Then spread their black wings for milder lands
The buffalo with her grunts of love
She plots to stop the beat of his hands.
She must forgo the role of victim
Take charge of her life for all she’s worth
She’s vowed herself a brand new dictum
To rise with courage and seek new birth.
brucejberger 
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