not a soul on the lake

Poetry 1 Minute 
sunday afternoon
late spring
a cloudless sky
not a soul on the lake

dozens of houses
with windows for walls
uniform lawns
not a soul on the lake

seven foam swans in the water
three coyote statues on private docks
two wooden owls and a metal heron in a garden
not a soul on the lake

fifty kayaks asleep in yards
thirty motorboats under canopies
two seaplanes with eye masks on
not a soul on the lake
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Published by M. Espinosa

He/they. I teach English at a junior high school in western Washington. Outside of work, I worry about a myriad of things and spend time outside.

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7 thoughts on “not a soul on the lake”

  3. We are singing Mitchell Fund’s arrangement of this in the Market Street Singers. My first reaction when I got the sheet music was to wonder why it was scored with measures of 3 1/2 over 2 instead of 7/4… but my second, and much stronger reaction, was to gasp in awe at the beauty and depth of the language, imagery, and the messages it conspiratorially shared with me. I thought about the strong, loud presence of the things that show clearly how very crowded with people this place might be, how many places like this I’ve seen and been. How we don’t usually notice the spirits of our statues, garden animals, vehicles–but they’re there, as anthropomorphic as we make them. This is in my top ten of contemporary American poems I’ve read. Andrea Gibson is my favorite poet, may she rest in her favorite tank top and jeans and hat. Finding you is a balm as I’m missing her.

    I started writing poetry at about age 5 (from my heart, and also as a way of coping with life); I first learned about poetry when someone gave me a two inch thick tome entitled My Poetry Book with themed chapters, dozens of poems from the 17th century to the mid 20th century. I continued reading all the poetry I could get my hands on, and writing several poems and stories a month on through age 18. I got into college with a portfolio of poetry on top of my perfectionist’s grades and tests and extracurriculars. Second year of college, while I was sharing some of my latest writing with him, my boyfriend at the time (not a nice person then) said “Only crazy people write poetry, and who would want to be with a crazy person?” It’s funny to look back 32 years and see how strange it was that my instinct was to dispute the first half of that statement and not the second. I stopped writing, though. He had soured it.

    Over the last three decades, up until Andrea Gibson died this year, I’ve wrung maybe 20 poems out of myself in total. Since then, a large handful. And your work makes me want to write, again, too. Thank you for the nudge; thank you for the beauty; thank you for keeping your work online here so I can read all you’ve put up now; thank you for teaching. My first teacher who had us write poetry in class for real and taught the conventions of good writing was in junior high and I can still picture him and remember his name, Mr. Wold, and his corduroy jacket, blonde combover, and bright smile whenever he read a student’s work out loud, or asked them to share it.

    I’m sure if there’s a way to buy a book or donate on your site, I’ll find it. Thank you for helping me wake up again as a writer. (My day job: corporate market research, moderating focus groups and interviews, writing discussion scripts/guides, reports, and presentations. Slide decks are a pretty un-poetic medium, but I do what I can. Thank you for the inspiration, and again, thank you for your work. Now I have a favorite living poet again.

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    1. Thank you so much for all of your kindness! I’m so excited about your group performing Mitchell’s piece! I love it so much!! I hope there’s a way to hear it one day!

      I’m so happy I could be a nudge for you to return to your writing. I’ve also been struggling with the ebb and flow of teaching. It makes consistency difficult. Your comment has helped give me motivation to make the thing happen.

      Thank you so much for your comment. Truly.

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