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Green Lake
by Beth Coyote
Green Lake in summer
So deep the bottom never found
My mother, in a striped one-piece
Moved strongly through the unruffled water
Back and forth, along the buoy line
But only after we were too languorous
In the heat
To disappear
We lay on towels, with baloney on white
Apples, lemonade
She would emerge, like Venus
Rising from her scalloped bowl
A 1950's Botteccelli, thighs flashing like pearls
From the milky water
Since '93, we've made our way
Without her long strokes
The smooth muscles of her legs
The slow turning of her head, side to side
Green lake is still bottomless
Children still dig in the sand
Watched over by mothers in bathing suits
Children sticky, hot, quarrelsome, sandwiches, apples
Children still watch a swimmer by the buoy line
Tireless, sure, solitary
A woman, beyond the shouts and worries of the shore
Arm over arm, stroking
Beth Coyote has been published locally in several zines and has
self-published two chapbooks. She has two lovely rejection letters
from the Sun and was a member of the Garlic Gulch Poets, a
south-end writer's group. She's currently an editor for
Poets Against the War.
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