Antonia Banyard
Kootenay Lake pool
I’ve always wanted a pool in the basement. Somewhere
to toss my little boat. Shelter it from storms
the unpredictable kind that blow up
on Kootenay Lake on days that look forever.
Or maybe
it’s just a canoe, hardly a boat, but enough
to hold me, my mother, and food for three days.
What happens if we are stranded for five
on the far shore, making smoky fires out of damp wood,
on the pebbly spit? And it spits rain
on our tent for five days, rhythm like sucking candy.
And what if our only bear is the packrat who visits
at midnight to steal our granola and hoarded chocolate?
And what if my mother swims naked in the lake,
and I can’t? Up to my armpits, I kiss the chop of waves, fill my
cup,
take it home with me.
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