August: Susan Derrera

This is Susan Derrera, and this is my poem, "August" from Crosscurrents North:

This evening
as I rowed away
from the house,
my feet cool
under the collected
rainwater
on the bottom
of the boat,
I looked at the lake,
at how the rain
thrown across it
like children's jacks,
flashed
then disappeared--
and at that moment,
while rain curled
silver fingers
through my hair
releasing the wildness
there, I knew exactly
who I was
and what I loved,

and I thought of
you, whoever you are,
however lost you may be,
and I brought you
here
to listen
to the music
of the rain
on leaves and
the feathered backs
of grebes
and your own warm
skin.

When we rounded the island
the sky began to
lift and even the depths
were made clear-the smooth
gray rocks at the bottom,
your own
jeweled heart,

and after we were done,
tied off at the dock,
I brought you in
all wet and new
and offered coffee
in a small blue cup
and a piece of
rhubarb pie
hot from the oven,
the juices flushed
and running
on the plate.