You Wore Your Canoe
by Alice O. Duggan
on
top of your Ford Fairlane,
a
signal I read, a sign saying single,
strong
arms and back, competent knots,
wants
to drive north longs to launch
canoe
in lake water, hear white pines sing
in
the wind we’ll stake our tent there —
somewhere
along the way I became we,
mine
became ours, there was a leap
in
your reasoning, strengthened by your happiness,
by
summertime and your mop of thick hair,
your
easy tiger stride,
your
easy tears.
