The green leafy gaze,
a loon on
the lake.
By night mice in a
dish, when the torch
is on. And squirrels
want fireside.
I cut into the tip of
my finger the first
day, need layers when
I enter the
water.
A death among reeds,
we watch
at nothing for nearly
an hour.
The dragonflies
multiple by midday,
prism-like water
below us.
I dream of the canoe
rocking, arms
a tilted windmill,
yet word is I’m working
little.
The moon casts over
the islands tonight,
black pitch made sun
white by tomorrow.
This cedar and soil
portage, now useless
with a map of water.
Goggled liked a
child, survey the moss-
covered stones, a
fish. I swim.
Catherine Cafferty is a poet living in Brooklyn, NY. She
holds a BA in literature from McGill University, an MA in English from San
Francisco State University, and an MFA from The Iowa Writers' Workshop. She
currently is the co-director of literacy for The Partnership for Inner-City
Education in NYC.
the Tuesday poem is
curated by rob mclennan
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