Marianne Boruch
from Ghost and Oar
Past sixty and pounds over, she
jumped from the boat, suddenly bigger
than her life. Perhaps you were her sister
shocked, who turned away. Because
she stripped off everything, descending--
a goddess, no, a god--in that bright
lagoon where shade made deeper pools,
lake a further noise past those islands.
The truth is, massive and pale, she
lengthened and swam, maybe singing out
something. And why not? I see water so
clear in this story, the grace to do that,
the perfect nerve of any summer afternoon
marked by abandon, years and years
released like a latch: light and leaves,
remember? Too much and so many.