Following the Light, by Julie L. Moore

On Grand River, by Frank Weston Benson (USA), 1930.

Following the Light
     
High noon, the water bright as the idea
the man had thirty minutes ago
when he set sail in his canoe,
alone, long wooden pole in hand, 
flinging his orange vest onto the seat,
seeking nothing but a certain slant
of light, not even a single fish, 
in the middle of summer in 1920
& the Grand River:

Behind him is another life,
maybe a wife, maybe children,
wondering where he’s off to now,
prone to wander as he often is,
not far from home, never 
in an untrue manner, 
but still, disappearing on days like this
once the urgent work is finished,
glint in his eye giving him away 

to the old dog, the only one 
who catches him as he
grabs his hat & heads out back. 
The hound knows this is no hunting trip
into the woods, no trek up the mountainside,
knows to stay put & return to his dreams
of raccoon chases & bones buried 
within reach. What the man does 
in the canoe is a balancing act:

As the blue-tailed damselflies flit & flash,
he hunches, slides the pole to the mud below 
then pushes down, pushes forward, 
pursuing Monet’s palette 
of yellow, green, orange, purple,
blue in every hue,
all rippling in the pines on the shoreline
& farther still, in the current yet to come, 
something swift, something slow.

Julie L. Moore

This poem was previously published in ASCENT.

Julie L. Moore is the author of three books of poetry: Particular Scandals, Slipping Out of Bloom, and Election Day. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Alaska Quarterly Review, Image, New Ohio Review, Nimrod, Poetry Daily, Prairie Schooner, The Southern Review, and Verse Daily.  You can learn more about her work at julielmoore.com.