Toni L Wilkes
Lakeside - 1948
He stares into the lake. Its depth
so shallow, clear inverted cypress tips
interlace with moss-slick bottom rocks,
swaying milfoil, burnished cattails.
Propped near him, parting grass
absently with her toes, his sister
pulls at her paints, splashes pigment
on discarded apple crates he discovered
in the orchard. She dabs color
on boards, her legs, the grass.
He listens, watches the water,
scans the orchard. Their silence
shelters itself in the outbursts of
crows marking spirals around a nest
of cowbirds. At their mother's call,
his life lapses into a rippled blur.
from GW Review, Fall 2008