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Lake Lure, 1952

Fred Chappell 
As toward the shoreline of this summer lake
A boater rowing solitary onward looks back to find
Her former life receded, indistinct,
A narrow smear of colors and an echo over water,
So Rhonda seeks now to recall her first love and her second.

Was she then one of the happy, a lakeside reveler,
Envying no one, as devoted to sunlight as a tiger lily?
Now the moon has marked her, set her apart;
She has loved a dozen lovers without reserve
And only a few uncertain reserves remain.

When love was strong she feared its strength
Derived from its sweet and silver poison
And felt complicit in conspiracy against herself.
How could he heart be true if she never understood
The force that worked upon her and within?

And yet her heart was always what it is,
Whatever that may be, wherever it has taken her
Out upon this lonesome water where the day-moon
Lays down its scabbed reflection like a poker chip
On the blue-green baize of desperate fortune.
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