Archive 09/26/11 - (2)

 

   

Wish-Nickel

                                                                  

This cerulean late-afternoon twilight couldn't be more majestic

Even if its life didn't depend on quixotic nature,

And neither could my exuberant spirit,

 

Which is traipsing through empty Camp Nebagamon's magic,

Communing with maples reflecting reds and oranges and yellows

As if they held, in their chloroplasts, the DNA of all species,

 

Asking each tiny, white-sided cabin to disclose its genealogy,

The roster of summer bunk-mates who, once, grew to manhood,

Under its pine-shaded, moss-covered, green-shingled roof.

 

While I reconnect with sixty years of my history's memories,

A shiny nickel, seeded in the sand, this past summer,

Begs me to bend down, pick it up, hold it close,

 

Thumb it as I would a touchstone, perhaps kiss it,

As a way of eliciting a wish, ensuring it'll come true to life.

Though it has a metallic taste, it speaks sweetly to me,

 

Asking me to take it home, when I leave, tomorrow,

Plant it atop my desk, in my writing office,

So I can watch it grow, every day of my indeterminate time away.

 

But I have a different idea, intention, expectation, for it.

As darkness descends, like a benediction spoken by the stars,

I, at dock's end, hold the nickel up to the celestial fires, until it glows,

 

Then toss it over my left shoulder, as if the lake were a fountain,

And make a wish that I'll return, ten thousand Septembers.

When I look down, my nickel is gleaming in the reflected heavens.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

09/26/11 - (2)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 

 
   
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