Otter Lake
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,
Rhode Island.  

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Apple Valley Review:
A Journal of Contemporary

ISSN 1931-3888

Volume 3, Number 2
(Fall 2008)

Copyright © 2008
by Leah Browning, Editor.  

All future rights to material
published in the
Valley Review
are retained
by the individual authors
and artists.