The Beached Red Canoe

The red canoe rests on its side
Down below in the yard, close to the lake,
Now idle, under the shade of the trees,
Spilling out memories of times
When we rowed through thick shadows
Across water in afternoon heat.
I am so tired of paddling alone.
Tired of repetitive motions going in circles,
Away from the shore, back in an hour….
Tired of singing sad, lonely songs,
Remembering your voice….
Now that you’ve gone, all over again.
Come winter, I will walk across the lake
Alone on thick ice, the silent canoe
Covered in snow—  crystal flakes falling,
Blowing as memories of you melt on my check,
White as cold sheets on the bed.
Again and again, back in fetal position,
Life-stream frozen, current underground.
But now it’s late June, raining outside,
Yet still the lawn seems brown….
Not sure if it will ever be green.
Maybe it was never meant to be.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to let go,
Take out the canoe on the lake, but still
So tired of paddling alone.


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