I will arise now and go to Henderson Bay,

to the old, shingled cabin with sun-worn decking,

and mice that run through sunbeams, across the top of the couch.

A sleeping porch will I have there, windowed with sheets

of plastic, where the music of the creek underneath

and the sound of waves lapping on the beach float in.

And I shall have the peace of lazy summer days spent

with my younger sisters and brother, urging, “Jump! Jump!”

Swinging out from the bulkhead, on the knotted rope,

I will drop into the frigid salt water at high tide.

I will sputter at the cold. My sisters and brother will applaud.

My best friend, Michelle Ledbetter, will caution me,

“Careful of the spikes.” I will climb with Michelle,

up onto the old, wrecked barge, washed up down the way.