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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