Megan Kaminski
Lake (singing)
Slip this morning into my cold depths. I’ll cushion you towards polished rocks, smooth your fettered brow. Dark fish, whiskered and snorting, water rubbing bodies warm, tumbling sharp corners dull. Secrets drift quietly liquid enveloped, trading frog-spawn. Mossy logs timbered upstream pillow our heads. Come closer and I might share my wardrobe, water-drenched but silken fine: long scarves wrap necks and wrists, chiffon skirts violet-ribbonned, pewter chain saturated with precious stone. Let me lick ankle, calf, thigh—devour gently with satin tongue.
Slip this morning into my cold depths. I’ll cushion you towards polished rocks, smooth your fettered brow. Dark fish, whiskered and snorting, water rubbing bodies warm, tumbling sharp corners dull. Secrets drift quietly liquid enveloped, trading frog-spawn. Mossy logs timbered upstream pillow our heads. Come closer and I might share my wardrobe, water-drenched but silken fine: long scarves wrap necks and wrists, chiffon skirts violet-ribbonned, pewter chain saturated with precious stone. Let me lick ankle, calf, thigh—devour gently with satin tongue.
Snowmelt (yelping)
Leave my silvery shine in the shadows of trees spared roughness from sun. Crystalline cover thins soft underbelly, not spared not cushioned by dry spears below. Browned grass from last season provides cover for upending seeds local seedlings zoysia upstarts. Let me stay just a little longer white iridescent in blue hours. Not pock-marked, not fodder for gray muck street sludge climbing wool trousers. Brown wash velvets beneath all-weather tires. Small fauna and ferns, I provide shelter from northern exhalations—spread your backs wide and cover me; keep me just a few more hours.
Leave my silvery shine in the shadows of trees spared roughness from sun. Crystalline cover thins soft underbelly, not spared not cushioned by dry spears below. Browned grass from last season provides cover for upending seeds local seedlings zoysia upstarts. Let me stay just a little longer white iridescent in blue hours. Not pock-marked, not fodder for gray muck street sludge climbing wool trousers. Brown wash velvets beneath all-weather tires. Small fauna and ferns, I provide shelter from northern exhalations—spread your backs wide and cover me; keep me just a few more hours.
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Megan Kaminski is the author of Desiring Map (Coconut Books, 2012) and seven chapbooks of poetry. Her current work Deep City explores the body and the city as architectures in crisis. She lives in Lawrence, Kansas, where she teaches creative writing and literature at the University of Kansas and curates the Taproom Poetry Series downtown. http://www.megankaminski.com/
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