By Rachel Marie Patterson
I haul away cedar drawers soaked
with mouse urine, scrub the kitchen
with mint oil, while my daughters run
headlong toward rusted nails. In this house,
I dream of deer ticks and stable flies,
the back door propped open, miniature
blonde heads facedown in the water.
On the warped dock, my neighbor and I
cut tiny sandwiches. Elderly couples wave
from their big, slow boats. I want
to cling to the babies as they wade
in their elaborate flotation suits.
How to adore them without terror?
I drag stones to build back the riprap.
Before I lock them into car seats,
I patch the chimney with flash paper,
hoping the leak holds another season.
Sullivan County sends strange boats
to spray alum on the algae bloom.
Photo by Robert Crawford