Lap of water
the lake waves panting
and a loon—landing
on the surface
its flickering wail—
before ducking below.
It was always at dusk
that we would pile in the car
drive to the lake—
take off our clothes to swim—
how my body
in the soft water, the lake
calm, the silk of it
the closest I ever came
to being alone in the presence
of others—the night
coming up alive
birds chirping down to sleep—
the wind meeting the branches
of the evergreens—the hum
of waves sweeping the shore.
It’s been almost 50 years.
We’re all still alive except Patrice.
The way the tributaries of her hair
splayed across the surface
of the water as she lay back—
as she floated above the ink-black depth.
—
The poems of Anastasia Vassos have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and Best New Poets. She is the author of Nostos (2023) and Nike Adjusting Her Sandal (2021). Find her work in RHINO, Whale Road Review, Thrush, Comstock Review, Lily Poetry Review, and elsewhere. Her poems about the Greek-American diaspora have been translated into Greek. She speaks three languages and rides her bicycle in Boston. The Atlantic is the ocean she loves best.
