by Richard Stolorow
Come up old man from the green water—
I know you are there. When I dove
in off the back square end of the rowboat
you held the oars. I was a lonely boy
given to fits of anger in a noisy world
and when I entered the cool sleeve
of Otter Lake there was no sound
among the soft shafts of light
no human motor in the mineral water.
I was home, the other home, where
you are now, my dad, I know.
I take the boat out stroking
to the lake’s blue midst, once my
boyhood tennis shoe day. There is
a slight breeze, enough to push
a dingy sideways over the surface
where I place my lips, waiting for you.
Richard Stolorow has worked as an English teacher, handyman,
concierge, and book clerk. His fiction and poetry have been published
in a dozen or so literary magazines. He currently lives in Providence,
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Apple Valley Review:
A Journal of Contemporary
Volume 3, Number 2
Copyright © 2008
by Leah Browning, Editor.
All future rights to material
published in the Apple
Valley Review are retained
by the individual authors