The Lake

by Ellen June Wright

I have a friend whose adult son fell ill,
within a week he died.

It’s been months, but she cries as though
she just held him in her arms and watched
his eyes close for the final time.

She’s joined the ever growing body of grief—
grief heavy as ship’s ballast tied ‘round her waist.
She wants me to pray for her son. I’m no priest.

I have no prayers for the dead.
I pray she is able to cut the binding,
swim to the surface, dark as storm clouds,

inch her way back to the serrated shore,
sit at the edge, black as beast eyes,
look at the lake and not wade back in.

---

Ellen June Wright consulted on guides for three PBS poetry series. Her work was selected as The Missouri Review’s Poem of the Week in June 2021. She is a Cave Canem and Hurston/Wright alumna and received Pushcart Prize nominations in 2021 and 2022. Follow her @ https://twitter.com/EllenJuneWrites