the Lake

I

Alone in the lake,
away from the strangers
(screaming and trashing
the beach – its soft surface
jagged with holes made by their
brightly colored weapons, sharp-edged-scoops,
plastic and flimsy but perfect for building
temporary structures)
is where the waters’ breath would tickle
her ears, filling and emptying as she swam
to escape the winds’ prodding fingers – cold
from travelling constantly.

II

At the far side of the lake,
where the woody skeletons stood jagged
and naked as victims of the water,
she laid her egg in
the grass: damp from being so close to
the water, it welcomed the unborn infant into
its family like a visiting cousin.

III

The next morning brought rain with it:
a curtain fogging her view of the strangers
approaching over the water
with their weapons,
pushing the lake away so they could move
closer; wings raised in protest, she screamed
at them as they reached her.

IV

The lake offered shelter,
swelling as it drank the rain –
she hid from the strangers beneath it
as they took her egg in
their hands not realizing
that it was wet; none of them heard
her cry out when her unborn infant slipped
from their hands    cracked    and spilled into the lake.









©Shelley Marie