The Waters of Elk Lake
The Waters of Elk Lake
Mary R. Finnegan
Leave the city.
Drive north toward the waters of Elk Lake.
Let the air, infused with pine, cedar, oak,
lead you to this place cupped
in the mountain veined palm of Pennsylvania.
Walk to the water’s edge.
Let the ache of days desiccated
by concrete, blacktop, noise, and need slip
like a snake from your shoulders into the warm earth.
Look at the cerulean sky and water hewn
by mountain, trees, grass, and the white of windmills.
Let the colors soothe the city’s sharp edges to softness,
for here you need not be a stranger to peace.
Yes, the storms come quick and clean
and thunder shatters the silence and lightning
ruptures the sky like a fault line,
be not afraid,
for you stand on a sturdy berth
and the weeping willow slakes
all sorrow and the cardinal catches dragonflies
in mid flight and the green earth holds you close as an angel.
Rest awhile now in this place untainted
as the garden before the fall.
See how the sky is new and unchanging,
how it mirrors the eternal and undivided light.
A suffering world has brought you here.
Love it as a child.
Let what is broken, unbreak.
The Eighth Day is upon us.
All that remains is praise, praise, praise.
Mary R. Finnegan
Poet & Nurse
Mary has been published in PILGRIM: A Journal of Catholic Experience, American Journal of Nursing, Dead Housekeeping & Medical Literary Messenger
Photography by Daoud Abismail