How Things Appear in the Dark
5 a.m. weekdays, I drive to the YMCA,
water-aerobicize in the pool’s deep end.
Same route each morning, but after
sixteen years of heading out the condo
community’s curved entrance, my heart
races when an oval boulder looms out of inky
black—standing on one end, poised to lunge.
In headlights, striations mirror overlapping
plates of an armadillo’s armor. Not sure
they’re this far north, but heard they’re on the move.
Another morning, I thought the boulder a large turtle.
Its shell held a rough spot, scar of some trauma.
Giant tortoises can live 200 years, but can’t survive
in Kentucky. Alligator snapping turtles do dwell here.
Did it crawl out of our lake to lay eggs in grass?
Strange, how our minds work. Even though I know
the boulder’s there, when my headlights flow
over it, I’m still surprised by the memory,
the wonder of what comes at us in the dark.
20 thoughts on "How Things Appear in the Dark"
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
“the wonder of what comes at us in the dark” is a great line., and so very true!
Thanks, Rosemarie.
The first stanza is perfection. I love that you use water-aerobicize as a verb! The ending
Sorry, I didn’t complete that sentence. I love it that the ending come as a surprise. You opened a mystery box with this poem.
Thank you!
Another fan. That last line opens up the poem in wondrous ways.
Thank you.
Echo and Linda and Bill.
Especially love:
water-aerobicize
the wonder of what comes at us in the dark.
This beauty got me at the ordinary two words that sound so lovely “oval boulder” – then nothing but attention. You weave detail almost like a reporter, and braid in your intent deftly.
There’s line from a song that crept in “search light casting for thought in the cloud of delusion.” Simply don’t know why that arose from the dark. Loved this so much.
Thank you, Manny.
This poem makes me think that we often don’t see what is there, but what we imagine to be there.
True.
You masterfully set this scene and when the stunning ending comes, it hits us–like the bolder in the poem. Very well crafted work.
Thank you, Shaun.
Really nice, Karen–and the ending is perfect & fresh!
Taunja, Thank you.
Love the way you describe that clay that our minds mold into arcane shapes: “the wonder of what comes at us in the dark.”
Thank you!
I’ve heard you reference these trips to water aerobics in other poems, and, as in this one, I’m fascinated by your attention to and description of imagery, especially in the natural world. You always bring the reader into your world.
Thank you, Ellen!