Small Cabins For Rent On Lovegrove Lake
Small Summer Cabins for Rent on Lovegrove Lake
by Barbara C. Agarwal
I left my chance when
A chance I did not take
When I saw you long, long ago
At Lovegrove Lake.
Do you remember per chance also,
Me perched on the wee porch there?
Me, dangling my silver sandal?
And sipping my white wine with care?
The blue chiffon band of my straw hat
Blowing in the river-lake air?
Me, sitting on a pink-coral rocking chair?
Me, focused and scratching out a poem to share?
You stood tall and out on the river dock
Of the lake. You stood wide-shouldered, as I recall:
A happy stranger, fishing, leaning against
The railing of the driftwood-grey quay.
I could hear you whistling, though afar.
I can hear you whistling still, by the song
I was won: “once there were valleys,
Kissed by the sun....”
Then—after some secret bless-ed
Moments of wonderful watching
I saddened to hear The Four Brothers'
Notes and your whistling cease.
But then you drew yourself together
With a sigh, to return
To your cabin, near and yet far:
Up the hill from mine,
Drew near enough you did
On the brown graveled path,
Near enough that I could see
The smiling creases aside
Both your boyish brimming
Brown eyes, barely shaded by
Your beaten tan angler's hat,
And you were coming my way
In that plaid musky-looking fishing shirt,
(Your rod used like a shepherd's staff,
With the metal lure clanking --ting-tinging--
Against your pail) you were coming my way
Near enough to me that I
Might smell that primal scent
Some sensuous men emit
After their hard days' work.
About to pass me by,
You slowed your step.
You paused.
Perhaps just for breath?
Or was it just long enough to wink
That well-and-wanting wink at me?
I smiled but put my eyes back to page.
You then continued up the way
To your cabin
More far away than hope.
It was then I think
That I stopped living
Or began dying from lost delights:
Reveries of what-might-have-beens,
There by Lovegrove Lake
On that Tuesday afternoon.
“Gone are the greenfields.../
Where rivers used to run.”
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