Afterward, I continued the regular routines,
walking each night to the shore, weaving
past shops and the iron schoolyard fences—
jokes called over the tops of the cars, sirens
and silhouettes in clumps, faded colors
tufted together in the streets.
By the time I reached the pier, it was almost dark,
the rail studded with bodies clowning and smoking
in the salmon-tinted dusk. Eventually, all color
contracted into the tips of the cigarettes.
Small fires, big dreams, the business of spiders
and the bait slowly sinking. The last months,
we were well into our goodbyes. Everyday tasks
took on the glow of athleticism. We had trained
for this. How could we let it all go? In the end,
we left, the lake still fastened to the sky,
the sky stuck with stars and the small
waves reaching back and back.
Judith Chalmer’s second book of poems is Minnow (Kelsay). Her poems have been published in journals such as Lilith, Poetica, and Amethyst Review, and in anthologies such as Roads Taken: Contemporary Vermont Poets and Queer Nature.
Photo by Justin Heap on Unsplash
