Mares’ tails & contrails
cleave the blue wild yonder,
& boats’ wakes
on the lake’s
cerulean stretch
roll its cold skin
into nautilus ripples,
saving you from staring
into flawless dome
& bottomless bowl,
paralyzed,
able only to look & loll.
Think about the double peril—
perfect sky & perfect lake
bringing on lassitude,
the blahs,
the ho-hums,
deep indigo moods,
daring you, drawing you
to cold.
Your only hope—to skip
a few stones,
make ripples
of your own,
& wait
for the sky to mirror
them back.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A native of Nebraska, Judy Brackett lives in a small town in the California foothills of the northern Sierra Nevada. Her poems have appeared in Epoch, The Maine Review, Commonweal, Miramar, Subtropics, Crab Orchard Review, and elsewhere. Her poetry chapbook, Flat Water: Nebraska Poems, was published by Finishing Line Press in March 2019. www.judybrackettcrowe.com