September 2004 / Volume Five / Issue Four
Michael Estabrook
Baseball

I dreamed Iím playing
baseball on a dirt field beside a lake.
The day is hot and dusty.  My girl
is watching me, although somewhat
detached.  Must be the heat.
The game ends.  Everyone leaves.
We're alone.  We sit on a big gray boulder
at the edge of the water, me up top,
she down at my side.
(I think of Lancelot and Guinevere.)
The water is black, so black.  Curious.
Must be the dusk.  The lake
is as still as an empty mirror, reflectionless.
But then a ripple starts, slowly, simply,
beneath the rising mists of evening.
I half rise, peer into the murky shimmering.
"Look!"  There's a snake in the lake.
My arm stretching, finger pointing.
"Don't be frightened it's only
a little water snake."  I pat
my girl's shoulder, sit back down.
And we stare deeply into the shadowy
darkness of the lake, stare
at the big snake behind the little one,
and the bigger snake behind that.