May 26, 2015

paddleboarding on the Monksville Reservoir

We were warned of the wind ripping through, and stood on a rocky patch
by the rental sign, our hair already mussed, watching the bray and buckle of the water.
It was still early enough in the season that we were all a little scared of falling in,
but we climbed into our life jackets anyway, walked to the edge of the makeshift launch,
heaved our knees up, and steered out of the eddy that would have kept us circling
near a shallow, jagged bottom. It was and it wasn’t a metaphor, because there are times
language only gets you so far before you have to rise in brief defiance of gravity,
grab the oar you’re given, and meet the waves as they come. Soon, you will forget entirely
the poem you were scribbling in your head while you weighed your chances of staying dry.
Soon, you will turn your whole body toward each fresh gust, and push.