THE QUEEN OF hEARTS

driving back to Gull Lake from the Red Owl
Mother and Nana were in the front seat,
a bag of just bought apples between them

the driver in front had done something wrong
Mother floored the gas
we passed him, Nana pitching the apples at him shouting
howda like them apples !

the next day the men arrived up from the Twin Cities for the weekend

no one spoke of our apple adventure
sandwiches and chips gave way to
grilled steaks, baked potatoes, corn on the cob

Nana baked dessert
only this weekend we would have tiny apple tarts
instead of her bountiful apple pies

WHITEFISH LAKE

waves know
when rushing into shore
that waiting there is a driftwood log
to splash against

what fun!

then, tired children,
they tumble back in line
catch their breaths
and wait their turns
to come again
and throw themselves against my log

NANA'S FINALE

in your last years you enjoyed
you soaps
an Old Fashion and Gin Rummy before dinner
Culbertson's, the Lincoln Del, and a ride around the lakes
bridge at Aunt Barbara's most Sunday nights
and your twenty winks

until finally, when in the hospital on Mother's Day
you slipped your credit card to someone and said
"Go to Culbertson's and celebrate Mother's Day on me "

it was there they got the call that you had died

when Mother cried the doctor told her
"Don't cry for your mother, she had a good life"

he was right

MY NANA TIME

We were the two early birds
you would sit at the head of the table and fix toast
(with lots of butta and homemade raspberry jam)
sipping fresh coffee from your glass cup

then we would go down to the double swing
maybe feed the mama duck and her babies our leftover crusts
and watch the low lying mists disappear
before the rest of our world woke up

SWIMMING IN THE RAIN

I could see the rain coming across the lake
till the kerplunks were close enough to hear

then the drops pinged on me too.
Squishing wet sand between my toes

I plunked myself in the lake,
and went swimmimg in the rain

DUSK

I am seven
sitting on our swing facing Gull Lake

the red row boat
brown sand
green pines
are turning gray

I hear the keening of the loon
and look for her blackness in the silvery calm

there she is
leaving liquid V's behind

in a blink she dives into the black beneath her mirror

darkness has descended

yet I hear her plaintiff cal: rain, rain, rain is coming

Sunfish

wise you
to hide in the shade of the diving dock
keeping your sunniness a secret
from little fishergirls like me

I thrilled
to feel you nibble at my hook
glimpse you swirling up from the dark
hold your thrashing, golden roundness
watch your scaley, flip flop shininess

now
I think of the terror in your eye
the red wound in your fishy mouth
your gills gulping for water

Little Stone

sand, water, clay
churning through time
under ancient seas long gone

now
swirls of motion
pushed by currents
ebbing, flowing

are forever still
in this little stone