Louis K. Harlow (Louis Kinney), Castine, 1887
Chromolithograph print, 19.1 x 27.1 cm
Digital image courtesy of the Library of Congress
drops by to say not you’ve left
the porch light on but a man drowned
in the lake on Sunday and sorry
you should be the one
home to receive the news. She’s
just glad she wasn’t the one
to find him floating in our little cove.
Right away you can’t leave
the hemlocked water alone.
That day, that hour, you must
wade in as minnows nibble
the uglier segments of your
human leg. A fellow being
calls from the dock, don’t worry!
as if a drowned body dredged
could muddy the wildest baptism.
But mountain water, like sheep’s
wool, is self-cleaning. At most
his body would only have been
unsettled by the small concerns
of these same flesh-worrying
minnows, if that is even their
rightful name, needle-fast fish
who regard the living and the dead
with spheres of cells and star junk.