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Monday, Oct. 21, 2013

Bone Lake

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                       Bone Lake


The water came up and hit us

in the face. We were cool

below in a green rubber land.

Sylvia’s breast escaped

rubbing up against her ear.

She stuffed it back into its cage.

Seaweed swayed, danced the hula.

Johnny darters wove through

the grass warp like silver shuttles.

Our feet vanished beneath

four inches of dust covered bones.

We moved like blown-out junkers

with clouds of yellow smoke trailing behind.

Above, in undulating walrus somersaults,

a school of carp color us green

with shadows like jungle camouflage.

Ahead, the bottom turns to fur,

fuzzy tree skeletons, hairy stones.

Eyes glow like flash lights

as walleyes watch us pass over. A musky,

face the size of a boot, holds ground

moving fins as if playing a harp.

His silver and green sides arc

like a welder’s torch as he torpedoes forward

swallowing up the pair of eyes still on us.


Sandra Nelson is a sculptor and literary artist. “Bone Lake”

first appeared in Kansas Quarterly.

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