In Suspense We Waited
On the banks of Silver Lake
At the steepest water’s edge
beneath the lowest bough
of Grandpa’s furthest tree
and nestled at its roots
we made our kitchen
in the bow
of a sailing ship
with bow and arrow
close to hand.
That year
it was the pirates.
We cooked and watched
planning, preparing
telling our men
to hold firm
to hold their fire
until the enemy
bared the whites
of their eyes
and we could see
their mirthless teeth
bearing knives.
Wavelets kept time
gentle, lapping
cupped by the breeze
and after dinner
the women
took the children
into the hold.
The knife on my belt
was heavier
than pocketed stones.
They came across the lake
in skiffs then, came
until the whites
of their eyes
glimmered
in the moonlight.
Do ‘gain!