The poem was called “Fire Lake.”
Going alone was salvageable; James Monroe’s house
and ducking down to get in—;
Bob Seger, of course, and the coast of Michigan;
my mother, always, and Mary, framed,
as I’ve known since childhood.
The dream also was my mother.
She didn’t like my personality.
The dream was her, but worse.
The dream was my father, realistic, head in his hands.
I staggered awake…
The thing that isn’t working now—
what who me—
should I set it down or give it a minute?
Wet snow. Slow Spring. Virtual Mass.
Everything on mute.
Somebody can be crying in a house as you walk by.
Mary Ann Samyn’s seven collections of poetry include Air, Light, Dust, Shadow, Distance (2018) and The Return from Calvary (forthcoming 2025), both from 42 Miles Press.