Such A Small Lake, Full of Us
by Cathy McArthur-Palermo
Blue, blue we floated in the lake. The difficult hours like eels appeared
suddenly. I had to swim through them, my brothers in a boat, guzzling
Budweisers, rowing, rowing somewhere, ranting, echoes of them over water.
We floated in the lake and treaded water-- sister, mother, father,
aunt, uncle, cousin, roped in, staring at the sky, waiting for the day to change.
And then it did. They lost oars, drifted out, singing “Nancy Whiskey,”
“Michael Row Your Boat;” their voices carried across Lake Sebago into
the town of Suffern.
Blue, blue, I wanted feet like Jesus’, to walk across the water, pull them in
but looked at the sky and prayed.
We floated like driftwood, dying fish, the murky areas not for swimming.
What was beneath us? Rusted cans, twisted fishing hooks? We couldn’t stand up.
My brothers sinking, bailing out water, rescued by lifeguards in motorboats.
We were blue, blue. One brother slept on the beach, the other went back, rowed
towards the water dam, bellowed again. We knew he carried a flask of Jameson.
Everyone knew who we were and came out and watched.
I wanted to drift away towards the other side, swim like a tadpole,
grow a spine and legs, feet. Find a road, slink away.
Listen to the poem here.
suddenly. I had to swim through them, my brothers in a boat, guzzling
Budweisers, rowing, rowing somewhere, ranting, echoes of them over water.
We floated in the lake and treaded water-- sister, mother, father,
aunt, uncle, cousin, roped in, staring at the sky, waiting for the day to change.
And then it did. They lost oars, drifted out, singing “Nancy Whiskey,”
“Michael Row Your Boat;” their voices carried across Lake Sebago into
the town of Suffern.
Blue, blue, I wanted feet like Jesus’, to walk across the water, pull them in
but looked at the sky and prayed.
We floated like driftwood, dying fish, the murky areas not for swimming.
What was beneath us? Rusted cans, twisted fishing hooks? We couldn’t stand up.
My brothers sinking, bailing out water, rescued by lifeguards in motorboats.
We were blue, blue. One brother slept on the beach, the other went back, rowed
towards the water dam, bellowed again. We knew he carried a flask of Jameson.
Everyone knew who we were and came out and watched.
I wanted to drift away towards the other side, swim like a tadpole,
grow a spine and legs, feet. Find a road, slink away.
Listen to the poem here.
 | Cathy McArthur Palermo’s poem "Such A Small Lake, Full of Us," was a semifinalist for the Crab Creek Review Poetry Prize. Her work has also appeared in The Lily Poetry Review, The Bellevue Literary Review, The Rumpus, Jacket, Juked, Barrow Street, Gargoyle, The Whale Road Review, Cordella, Big City Lit, and The Valparaiso Poetry Review among others. Her flash fiction recently was shortlisted in The New Flash Fiction Review. Another piece appeared in Peatsmoke. She has an MFA from CCNY and has taught creative writing at several colleges in The City University of New York and for The Lighthouse Guild. She lives with her husband in Queens, NY. |