The Voice On the Lake
sometimes if I’m really listening, I still hear him
I love that lake: loved the campground
where he owned a summer trailer while
I was growing up. I loved the smoked
out windows from making grilled cheese
and writing at the picnic table where I carved
my childhood nickname into the wood
during the last year there.
Loved the bonfires sending endless smoke to the heavens
the bonfires were minutes away and somehow, heaven
didn’t seem too far beyond that.
He’s been gone for 20 years and I imagine him
growing up on that peninsula- a blonde haired man-
kind but quick tempered,
preparing the fishing poles,
riding on the trails after classes,
learning to work his first of many HAM radios.
Imagine him joining the army in communications
and then as a Sargent.
If I listen with my whole heart, I can hear him.
He gives me directions for my next steps.
Lets me know where I’ve messed up.
Calls my bluff when he needs to.
However, always whispers to my heart,
I love you.
