Drop an ankle off the walkway
and plunge into the reflection
of the crisp fall moon
or, better yet, the church
stretching far below
the music hall. The bottom
may be only a few feet—
who can tell?—but not deep enough
to warrant a pretty backstroke,
your learning motion
buoyed by a small hand.
The mirrored lake is too stunning
to ignore the metaphor,
the dark path too alluring
to not take seriously
when heading home from words,
tones, and tastes in concert.
Swoop down the no-entry curve
you’re quite sure you entered
earlier, numbered streets
reversing speedily under
the indigo sky. Remember,
you can love something
that does not exist—purple
can be your favorite color.
To get to it, some work must be done,
some alchemy of rods and cones
that places you there, entry and exit.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 28, Issue 4.
Jennifer Campbell is a writing professor in Buffalo, NY, and served for nearly twenty years as a co-editor of Earth’s Daughters. She has two full-length poetry collections and a chapbook of reconstituted fairy tale poems titled What Came First (Dancing Girl Press, 2021). Jennifer’s work has recently appeared in North Coast Voices, Slipstream, and Litmosphere.
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