Sestina (A Ghost Story)
Elinor Ann Walker
Tom Howard/Margaret Reid Poetry Contest 2024 (view all the winners)
Honorable Mention, Margaret Reid, Traditional Verse
It's been a while since I've been up to the lake,
but I remember well how its surface can look
so different, murky-dark or green-slate glass.
Its stillness is deceptive unless you stare
a while. Then you'll see how much rises up,
the signs beneath the surface, minnows, rings
of air ascending; those ever-widening rings
remind me of the time they dragged the lake.
A boy had disappeared. His mother never gave up.
Months went by. There was nowhere else to look.
People said for years she came back to stare
at the place as if he might still be alive, but the glass
surface mirrored only her face in its watery glass
of sorrow. It's the kind of terrible story that rings
true only because we all know that if you stare
out long enough, you'll see more than the lake.
You have to pay attention, learn how to look
longer at each splash. Fish jump; the turtles are up
on half-submerged logs. To get to the lake, I drive up
the gravel road past the market selling glass
trinkets, key chains, bait, and beer. I don't look
along the banks where I said I'd lost the ring
because I didn't lose it. I hurled it into the lake
like a pebble. It was the only way to stare
down that fate. I'm pretty sure people stare
at me across the room. They think I'm up
to no good. I leave parties to drive to the lake
when I shouldn't be driving, after one glass
too many. I navigate easily by the bright ring
around the moon. I know the exact look
of each landmark. In the rear-view, I look
for objects that are closer than they appear. Stare
hard always; arrive, get out, walk the long dock. Rings
of water. Signs of life. I call the silver minnows up
through the darkness to the surface, the glass
edge between water, sky, beauty, terror, the lake
and me. Now the moon looks like a ring on the water.
I stare until I see you. The lake stirs. Are you waving?
I am coming up to break the surface like glass.
This poem first appeared in Northwest Review 51.03 (Spring 2022).
